


redux.

by Anusaya



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 11th gen, Gen, Multi, but there will be pairings, daily life and also magical mafia shenanigans, in which tsuna and some other folks reproduced, not pairing-centric, reborn gets a new student and it all begins anew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anusaya/pseuds/Anusaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years have passed since the Tri-ni-sette was secured. As far as Tsuna's child knows, he's a regular dad with an average, sometimes overseas job. Only, each generation comes and goes, and perhaps the 7^3 won't be safe forever. All the signs are pointing to the fact that it could be time to find and train another generation of Vongola Guardians. Good thing Reborn never retired. </p><p>[11th gen and 10th gen fic / storylines for both / background pairings ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

［ ｐ ｒ ｏ ｌ ｏ ｇ ｕ ｅ ］

**“I** came because you asked.”

“An honour to once again meet with the one they call the genius hitman,” said the old man. “The greatest of all hitmen that our world has ever produced, that is.”

A slight _heh_ of acknowledgment, but no words of thanks for these compliments. 

In the Italian Renaissance, the highest quality was _sprezzatura_ : making genius appear effortless, and thus taking praise in stride.

“I know that when you appear before our Family, it’s no small thing, Talbot, but even I’m surprised by your craftsmanship this time. Does Iemitsu know about these? I’m sure Tsuna doesn’t, or else I would’ve seen his reaction.”

“They’ll know soon enough.” A smile, wide and gummy. “Spirits aren’t like you and I, living only in one place. They can inhabit multiple objects at once. Just as they live within those original rings which have become the Vongola Gear, so those same spirits live within these new ones as well. Including . . . the spirit of your old friend, the Ninth.”

The Ninth had lived long enough to attend the birth of Sawada Tsunayoshi’s daughter. 

But only just barely. He had pressed his finger to her forehead as she looked up with wide, uncomprehending eyes. Tsuna’s eyes. To Reborn, he had whispered: _take care of this child._

By which they both knew the implications. 

A week later, he passed away peacefully in his sleep.

“When I went to Japan to find Tsuna, it was on the Ninth’s orders,” Reborn said. That was a lifetime ago, literally. “But Tsuna and his Guardians are still relatively young. It would seem pre-emptive, at this stage, to begin training a successor.”

“Don’t think I’m forcing your hand, Reborn,” Talbot answered. Laughter rang in his voice. “The rings themselves made this decision. It was time for them to be reborn.” 

He touched his chin with his gnarled, ancient fingers. “Perhaps some great trials will befall the Family, something so large that an Eleventh Generation must be added to the Tenth. I couldn’t say why this is happening, only that it is.”

Reborn reached out and lifted one of the rings from the table in front of them. 

The Vongola ring of Sky, with its tranquil shade of blue. So very nostalgic. 

How many years had it been since he had seen the object with this memorable form? 

Would these newer iterations also need to be subdued or halved? And would they create all new conflicts in the name of their possession and inheritance? 

Seemed almost a certainty.

“The Tri-ni-sette aren’t objects that even you could just create on a whim or at will,” Reborn agreed, “So when you say there are other powers at work here . . . I believe you. Of course, I’m going to have to talk to Iemitsu about this, and Basil, since he’s being trained as the successor. It also goes without saying that I’ll speak with Tsuna when he returns from business. But for now -“

Light passed through the ring, like a ghost in their dark room. 

The old man stared with approving, sightless eyes at his newest creations, and Reborn felt a pulse of warmth reverberate against his fingertips.

“I’ll talk to that child.”

***

Sawada Kikuko sat up in bed, gasping for breath.

“Oh no, oh no. I must be dying.” She placed a hand over her chest. “Why am I breathing so hard?”

“That’s because you have a cold, Kikuko-chan. Did you go to sleep and forget about that, and then scare yourself?”

That was a woman’s voice -- not her mother’s, but one she knew very well. A voice she’d known all her life.

Kikuko sat upright as blankets, pillows, and lion and teddy bear plushies puddled around her. 

She was (unfortunately) wearing the pajamas Auntie Haru had given her, only because laundry day was coming up and nothing else was clean. They were a pretty enough shade of pink, but they happened to be covered with baby versions of the faces of all the adults she knew, which was just creepy, though Auntie insisted this would be like a good luck charm -- seeing all these friendly faces every time you looked in the mirror. Auntie always had ideas like that. 

And here she was now, peeping through the sliver of light in the partially opened bedroom door:

“Kyoko! Kikuko-chan is awake again! She keeps waking herself up with her snoring . . . “

Kikuko pulled the covers high to hide the way her face scrunched up at those words. 

“If you say it like that, it’s so lame,” she mumbled.

“Kikuko’s so excited about her first day of middle school tomorrow -- “ That was her mother, and the sound of her mother’s footsteps coming down the hallway. “ -- that she makes noises to herself so she won’t sleep.”

“No, Mom!”

Kyoko threw the door wide open. The hall light rushed in.

“Onii-san was the same way,” she was telling Haru. “Particularly before big sports days. He’d get so excited, he’d take in so much breath that then when he breathed it out, it would crack the wall between our rooms!”

 _”How do you crack a wall with snoring?”_ Kikuko exclaimed. “Even if you say it, it doesn’t make sense!”

“ _Hahi!_ She talks just like Tsuna did.” Haru said the words with great fondness, but it wasn’t the first time she had made this observation. 

She exchanged a look with Kyoko that could almost be called conspiratorial, only that word seemed to conjure darker images than these two perpetually-bright individuals. “But how can we heal this poor girl? Haru thinks we should exorcise the snore demon -- “

Kyoko laughed warmly. “Haru, don’t tease. Hmm, I read that taping tennis balls to the pajamas could help regulate the sleeping position, so she won’t be on her back . . . “ She cast a sideways glance at the bed. “We used to try that with your father.”

“I don’t like that idea!”

“But I think I have a better solution. I just went to the drugstore and bought this.”

Kyoko approached the bed and sat down on it. 

Up close, Kikuko could smell her mother’s warm, clean scent -- soft shampoo and suntan lotion, a whiff of something Chanel and a whiff of the outdoors on a sunny day, like playing in the garden and in the sand and all the days that you love. Up close, her mother felt quieter and older and more secret, somehow. She was wearing an elegant nightgown, and her long blonde hair hung down so far that it almost tickled Kikuko’s nose.

“You must be feeling anxious, Kikuko,” she said, more quietly and seriously. “Missing him . . . well, me, too. Like you can’t breathe when he’s not here with us.”

“It’s not that, Mom,” Kikuko said, softly. “I just have a cold. But… Dad, now that you say it… when will he be back?”

“Well, soon, I think. He’s in Italy now.”

“Yamamoto, Chrome, and that unfriendly man, Hibari, are there too,” Haru put in.

Italy, as it often was. Kikuko had been with her parents to Italy on the occasion that they took a vacation together as a family. Uncles Yamamoto and Gokudera had been there; the food was delicious, and the beaches had been so beautiful, and just what was Dad doing there now? When he ran off like this, it was always with Yamamoto and them, so maybe he was there for a big baseball game. 

He must be having fun, or so Kyoko would always say. _Your daddy is having lots of fun,_ was her explanation, when this happened. Maybe it was like one big series of vacations. 

Thinking of it like that, Kikuko felt envious of her father. He was able to do such things as an adult, while she was stuck going to boring school.

“Here, Kikuko,” Kyoko began. 

She reached over and cupped her daughter’s chin as Kikuko dropped the blankets which had been masking her face. Wide-eyed, Kikuko squirmed a little as her mother produced a small container of nasal spray.

“You really are just like Tsu-kun was … even how you move … like a caterpillar that wriggles . . . “

”Mom . . . “

“Hold still, please.” 

And then she sprayed first one nostril, then the other.

Kikuko took a deep breath. The pressure in her head eased incrementally.

“My poor daughter, who feels bad just before school. Well, you must try to rest, though.” Kyoko ran her fingers through her child’s hair. “And don’t worry about Tsu-kun too much. We have each other, right? And you have Auntie Haru, Hana, I-pin, and Bianchi-san, who will be coming soon. And he’s with us in spirit. We’re always all here for you. All your uncles, too.”

“T-thanks, Mom.”

“And Haru is on Snore Patrol Duty,” Haru interjected. She was still standing in the doorway, now beaming with a smile at the mother-daughter scene before her. “If Kikuko-chan makes a noise again, a fierce yokai might appear in the room and scare those monstrous creatures out of her!”

By which she meant she would burst into the room dressed in some ridiculous cosplay, and Kikuko would jump out of bed screaming, before cringing and rolling her eyes (again) at how uncool her family could be sometimes.

“But I think I feel a little better. My head feels lighter.”

“I-pin recommended that spray. She’s working in medicine now.” Kyoko stood up. “How time goes by -- right, Haru? Well, let’s let this girl try to sleep and not preoccupy her thoughts too much. She has a big day ahead of her tomorrow, and we -- “ Again, that conspiratorial look. “ -- we have a lot to be planning, don’t we?”

“Yes. _Hahi!_ Oh, to be in middle school again -- excellent grades, and popular . . . “

That doesn’t describe me at all, Kikuko thought.

“How I envy you your beautiful youth, Kikuko-chan. Well, now Kyoko and I have to get back to what we were doing. Please, sleep beautifully and dream of love!”

Kikuko inhaled deeply through her nose -- as deep as she could.

Her mother and Haru. They were usually together. Best friends, along with Uncle Ryohei’s wife, Hana, and the other women. Once they had exited Kikuko’s bedroom (on its door read the “No Boys Allowed” sign that they had helped create), only that warm feeling and the soft sunny scent lingered behind. If Kikuko were honest with herself, it did make her feel a little better, knowing that they were just down the hall. There was a sense of security in that … even if it was somehow a little terrifying at the same time. 

But, well, her family was just like that. Even her dad thought so.

She reached down, tugging at the uncool pajamas.

_Still, though. I wish . . ._

_I feel like these adults just don’t . . ._

.o.

__

_I feel like these adults just come from a different world sometimes._

.o.

“Sawada Kikuko.”

Kikuko sat upright again, heart beating fast and breathing as excited as it was before. 

Again? Had she been snoring again? Did she wake herself up, or had she heard her mother and Auntie Haru laughing outside in the hall?

Had a few minutes passed?

But -- no, a half-asleep glance at her cell phone indicated that it was 3:00 am. Far past the time for going to sleep, but not quite within range of waking for school.

Was she just coming out of a dream? Her brain felt foggy, as though she couldn’t properly remember.

 _I must have been dreaming,_ Kikuko thought.

And the house was dark. 

No lights coming in from the hallway. No lights creeping in under the door. So Haru was asleep. And her mother must also be asleep.

Kikuko swallowed hard, still feeling the slight strain of a lingering congestion. 

Outside, tree limbs swayed in the breeze, leaves rustling and wood thumping time and again against the walls.

“Sawada Kikuko.”

A man’s voice?

A cold spike of fear shot through her. An intruder? Kikuko looked around feverishly, but saw no one. 

And for it to be so dark, with the trees making those sounds, and the wind blowing . . . 

. . . how cold . . .

 _Wait,_ she thought. _The cold. That’s because --_

The window was open.

Curtains blew in the morning wind. Moonlight shone in. A white pool on the floorboards, filled with shadows.

So that’s why the trees were so loud. 

So.

So someone was in the room.

An intruder.

“Hey!” Shivering though she was, Kikuko pulled off the covers and forced herself to sit with her back straight. “What’s going on here? Eh? Who is that? Who’s saying my name?”

And, flailing: “Most importantly, what kind of guy comes into a girl’s room like this at this hour! _What kind of pervert?_ I’ll tell Auntie and Mom on you!”

“So, we meet again. _The beloved child of my most useless student._ Only -- “ That same voice, but a touch softer: “Standing up for yourself? I suppose you’re not as pathetic as he was at that time. I expected this.”

“Huh?”

Before the window where the moonlight flowed inside, a shadow moved. 

A foot -- no, a leg, and then another -- stretching in from the outside. Black-clad. Liquid movements, like the flow of oil. 

Kikuko blinked. 

This must be a vivid dream. A very vivid dream, part-awake and part-asleep. Human beings didn’t move like this. A human being couldn’t flow into a room as though made of water. 

Was this a hologram? A prank? It wasn’t funny, if so.

“Sawada Kikuko. I’ll say it once, and only once.”

She tensed. 

_“Chaos, right?”_

“Chaos?”

Kikuko moved to lunge out of bed, but the zipper of the abominable pajamas caught in one of her lion print blankets and, with a scream, she tumbled to the ground, face colliding with the floor.

“Ow!” she yelled. “Chaos!”

“Still.” 

That man’s voice. Again. It was more normal now, but what was this feeling? 

“Perhaps I gave you too much credit before, praising you as against your father. You seem to have inherited that same useless way about you.”

“Hey! Who are you to come into my room and talk big like that!” She clutched her nose and lips. “Ow, ow, ow. You! You made me fall! But wait…”

The initial sting of the fall was quickly subsiding, and so was the surprise of the encounter itself. Kikuko sat back, assessing her surroundings more clearly.

No, it wasn’t a dream. There was a man here: a man in a suit, with a strange hat. Like one of those Italian hats. And there was something on it, too. 

She squinted, but couldn’t quite make the shape out. What _was_ that? 

And the other strange thing about that man: his shadow.

It looked -- maybe it was just the moon, but it looked . . . too small for his body.

“But … though you scared me,” Kikuko began, nervously, gathering herself and pushing up off the floor. “... you feel… familiar… and -- and you said my dad… ?”

“I’ve known your father since before you were born, Kikuko. Long before.”

Kikuko stood up and looked closely at the scene before her. No doubt about it, now. This was real. A strange, shadow-like figure standing inside her room -- a grown man, too. How scary. And yet, after the initial burst of terror, she didn’t really feel afraid anymore. 

More like, this person seemed like someone she’d known a long time as well. 

Maybe that was why she had yelled at him the way she would have yelled at a troublesome little kid.

“But, even if you say all that, I have school tomorrow. I need to sleep.”

“Of course, I agree. I won’t keep you long. My student has to excel in her grades, too, after all.”

“... student?”

“That’s right. I came here to introduce myself to you as your tutor.”

“But -- I don’t need a tutor! School doesn’t even start until tomorrow!”

“Kikuko, use your eyes. Do you really not feel it?”

Kikuko sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her lamp. 

In the patch of warm yellow that opened onto the room, she finally recognized this individual who had accosted her so rudely in the earliest hours of the morning. There it was: the familiar curl of black hair pressed flat by the wide hat, the sharp chin, the eyes which seemed to have a limitless capacity for kindness or severity.

This -- this was -- Uncle Reborn, right? How many times had she seen him at family gatherings, like weddings and picnics and birthday parties?

But, come to think of it, he had always seemed a little aloof compared to Uncles Yamamoto and Gokudera and the others. He had seemed maybe older, more mature and serene and like he came from a different era or something. The way he addressed her mother -- so formal and polite. And he’d always addressed her the same way.

Until now.

“Uncle Reborn. I don’t understand.”

“Not anymore,” he said, almost gently. “From here on out, just Reborn. After all . . . “

Hands firmly in his pockets, he slid his thumb along the edge of what looked like a gun.

“That’s how your father knew me. And now, so will you. That is, if you take me up on my offer.”

“But I don’t understand,” she admitted. “What do you want, Uncle -- that is, Reborn?”

Reborn took a step towards the bed. In the quiet room, the polished shoes made no sound on the floorboards. 

Was this what a person from her father’s old business world could be like?

 _He seems so . . . capable?_ she thought. Of what, though?

“Twelve years ago, Kikuko, you were born to Sawada Tsunayoshi and Sawada Kyoko, formerly Sasagawa Kyoko.” 

Reborn took his hands from his pockets and grasped the gun -- (that’s definitely what it was!) -- but it remained pointed at the ground. 

“You are Tsuna’s and Kyoko’s adored child, spoiled from birth by every Guardian and every adult around you. It’s because you’re spoiled that you have more pride than your father did.”

“Spoiled!” 

What a thing to say . . . as if he knew. As if he knew what it was like, with all these adults around who didn’t understand you at all.

“That’s right. But I was watching you from a distance. I know Tsuna, so I knew he wouldn’t want to get you involved with our world.”

When Reborn said that, his gaze traveled from Kikuko’s body, huddled on the bed, down the length of the sheets, and to the weapon he held. 

Something about the words, the tone in which he said them, and the way he looked at that object made the tiny hairs on Kikuko’s neck stand on end. 

_You say ‘our world,’ and you’re holding a gun,_ she thought. What does that mean? 

More importantly, why did seeing an unconcealed firearm not disturb her more?

“I wanted to see if you’d develop your abilities on your own. That was my hope.” 

And now he was placing his foot on the edge of the bed, the way you’d stand on a conquered opponent. 

“But though the other children of your generation have shown the same promise and aptitude as their parents, who went through so many trials at the risk of their own lives… you’ve remained a civilian, like your mother.”

“Don’t say a word about Mom!”

“You needn’t be offended. There’s no shame in being like Kyoko. She’s incredibly resilient and, without her support and strength, many members of your family would have been long dead, or would have fallen into despair. But she is a civilian, all the same. That is, she doesn’t protect the family with her own body, but rather with her will and spirit. Your path will be different.”

And all at once, he pointed the gun at her: “If you choose for it to be.”

“Wait! What -- why are you -- “

Why was any of this happening? It was so surreal. Kikuko stole a frightened glance at the phone clock. So late! That is, so early! Was she really going to die right before she could have a chance to attend middle school?

 _I mean, middle school is scary,_ she thought, _But I think … I don’t want to die to get out of going to class! That’s taking things too far . . ._

“Maybe I just ate too much ice cream . . . “ She threw her hands up in the air, surrendering. “You’re just a scary dream.”

“Stupid Kikuko,” Reborn muttered. 

There was no rancor in the sentiment. 

In another movement, like the on and off of a switch, he placed the gun back within its holster.

“Well, you can believe me or not. I came here tonight, late though it is, because I have reason to believe that the forces that stirred two long decades ago have begun to move again. I’ve seen the proof. And now I’m telling you this, even before I tell Tsuna.”

Kikuko crawled under the covers. 

She wanted to look away. She didn’t want to face this man, come to think of it. Not because he was scary exactly -- because somehow she still didn’t feel as afraid as she thought she should -- but because the way he said these words had too much weight and felt -- heavy. 

Too heavy for someone like her, who had lived such a carefree life.

“Your father never really had a choice, Kikuko. But this is a new era.“

Even as the man said those words, he turned abruptly.

“ -- and there will be other candidates for succession. Becoming the Boss isn’t all about direct inheritance, after all.”

Reborn’s back was turned towards Kikuko now. The words sounded measured. Distant. 

Dimly, Kikuko could still see the outline of the gun, as well as the moonlight and shadows on the designer suit jacket. 

Save for cufflinks and the body of that animal, that amphibian-like animal who sat on the hat as though it weren’t a real creature, everything Kikuko could see from this side was black and made of severe lines, but her eyes were drawn to Reborn’s shoulders, whose blades were sharp even against the suit he wore, and which seemed somehow to carry immeasurable weight.

“So if you aren’t up to it, or don’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps,” he continued, “then you’ll have to let me know soon. I came to give you this message, and I’m going to let you sleep on it. What I want to know is if you will live and fight with Dying Will, like Tsuna did.”

She had no idea what to say to that, but almost reflexively, gripping the covers, she exclaimed:

“My mother and Auntie Haru told me -- “ Kikuko exclaimed “-- to live beautifully!”

And didn’t that sound like taking care of your life? What was this about Dying Will? That sounded dangerous. Intense.

“And I need to sleep now.“

“So sleep, and we’ll talk again at your school. In the morning. Don’t be late, Kikuko.”

 _As if you’re not making it harder for me when you keep me awake like this!_

But she didn’t say that. She just fisted her hands in her hair and tugged in frustration.

The eyes of that little green animal blinked when Reborn turned to cast one final glance over his shoulder at Kikuko, sitting on the bed. 

The curtain blew.

And then she was alone. 

Nothing remained.

Nothing, she thought absently, save something like a slight smell that lingered on the wind. 

Like a whiff of smoke, as if from the barrel of a gun.

(But there was no shot?)

“Maybe he was really just a creepy guy somehow,” Kikuko muttered, eyes narrowing.

Or like a dream.

And then, with a few yawns, she fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Ｔａｒｇｅｔ １： Ｇｏｋｕｄｅｒａ

When the alarm went off, Kikuko jolted out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

Always, she left herself an extra forty-five minutes to an hour to get ready -- mostly because of her hair, which she’d decided was the worst thing her father had ever done to her, giving her that. 

As soon as she touched the light switch and saw herself against the dim bathroom bulbs and the pale glow of morning, she gasped in horror. 

“It’s so terrible! It’s so terrible!” What was this hair, going in every direction like that? Fluffing out into some poofy ball like a deformed bird’s nest? “Who has hair like this, anyway?”

“Oh, there you are, Kikuko -- “ Her mother, sunny-voiced even at this early hour, and humming. “Well, you know … the way you sleep sometimes, and you do pull on your hair, too …”

“I can’t go to school like this! It’s too embarrassing! Mom, please, please, help me straighten these tangles.”

“It’ll be okay. Here, give me that brush, Kikuko.”

Kikuko sat very still and straight on the stool, hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the transformation that the mirror would depict. 

With Kyoko’s patient, never-worried and never-rushed assistance, Kikuko’s hair went -- as it always did -- from a sort of amorphous bird’s nest of knots to something soft, straight, and downy-fine, hanging flat down her back. 

Not as golden as her mother’s, perhaps, but … more like hers than it had been before.

When Kikuko thought about it, it was relaxing … sitting there like that, and having her mother sit behind her, murmuring and singing and combing. 

The feel of her mother’s tender fingers in her hair. It was -- nice. Like childhood. And all the memories of the bond between them.

But downstairs, something crashed.

“Huh? What’s that? Mom?”

“Don’t worry,” Kyoko said. Her eyes met Kikuko’s in the mirror. Always warm. “It’s just Haru and them.”

“But it sounds louder than usual . . . “

“Well, right now, we have to get you ready for school, right?”

Kikuko tilted her head. She felt as though she was forgetting something, somehow.

“Wait a minute … last night, I … “

“Hm?” Kyoko’s hand in her hair halted. “Kikuko?”

“Last night … wait! I remember! That man -- I -- “

From downstairs, there came an even louder (and more terrifying) crashing sound. As though a cabinet or two had been turned over -- or worse, _exploded_.

“--Mom!”

“Oh? Let me go see about them. You finish getting ready, Kikuko.”

Once her hair had been suitably straightened and Kyoko had left to check on -- whatever was happening below, Kikuko pulled her scrunchies from the drawer and tied the now-flat locks into a very loose and lopsided bun; then, she kicked off her gross pajamas and proceeded to dress in her Namimori Middle School uniform, ironed the night before. She turned, examining herself in the full length mirror. Not too bad, right?

 _But I feel like it’s just ‘okay,’_ she thought, touching her chin. _Auntie would know about adding more wristbands or rings or hair clips to make me stand out more. But then, do I really want to stand out?_

She yawned. It all just seemed like so much effort sometimes -- everything with clothes and hair and lip balm and eye shadow and curls and straightening and, really, where did anyone find the time for all that? Even sitting still long enough to tame the poof was really a chore… and yet, Kikuko thought, she kind of did want to be one of those cool and fashionable girls.

Middle school, she decided, is like a new chance to decide whether you want to try to be cool or whether you’d rather just be ignored. And maybe even by the end of the day, maybe she’d know.

_By the end of the day …_

Anyway, something was definitely going on downstairs, so after a cursory review of her clothes and packed bag, Kikuko ran down, tugging her socks and shoes on.

The kitchen was cordoned off with chairs and curtains, but smoke wafted ominously from between them.

“Just what is going on in here, anyway?” Kikuko pouted. “Why can’t I get in and what’s with that smoke?”

She sniffed a few times. She was still a little congested, and yet, “But it doesn’t smell so bad. It’s -- nice, actually!”

Someone was inside -- probably Auntie Haru, and Kikuko’s mother, certainly, but she thought she heard other people talking. Just who all had come over? She was thinking of raising her voice to say that she wanted to grab some breakfast before she went to class, so please let her inside! -- But just as she opened her mouth to do so, a voice behind Kikuko caused her to jump, nearly dropping her bag:

“Eleventh! I’m sorry!”

Only one person used that nickname for her.

“Uncle!” She turned. “But -- sorry for what? And what are you holding?”

Dressed in full business attire, Gokudera Hayato currently occupied the entire space of the front doorway, one hand gripping the knob and the other held forward so that Kikuko could have counted every ring he wore, had she wanted to. Dangling from his outstretched arm was a bag of -- of what? The bag itself was clear plastic, but it was covered with logos and labels, so Kikuko couldn’t discern the contents.

“For running late! Oh! And, well -- “ From the startled look on Gokudera’s face, Kikuko again had the feeling that something very unusual was going on this morning. “-- I just bought these cucumbers, Eleventh. Do you want to try them? I thought we could eat on the way.”

“Eating only cucumbers?” She blinked. “Wait, on the way. Do you mean -- “

“That’s right.” Setting the bag aside, Gokudera’s posture straightened all at once, and he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “As the Right-Hand man of the Tenth Vongola Boss, I’m here on orders to escort the Eleventh Boss of the Vongola to her classes.”

“S-so serious. And what’s all this stuff about Dad's business?”

Vongola was the name of Dad’s organization. That much Kikuko knew. And Uncle Gokudera had a tendency to seem kind of dramatic about really mundane things, but today he seemed even more intense than usual. What was up with everyone all of a sudden?

“It’s a magnificent day, Eleventh. Now you’re starting the same grade that your father and I were in when we met and when he changed my life.”

He threw the bag of cucumbers over his shoulder and motioned for Kikuko to follow, turning and winking (still too dramatic!) -- and way more excited about this school thing than she was.

“It’s just -- I keep thinking of all the people’s lives you’ll probably save and . . . well, of course it means a lot of idiots and assholes might follow you around . . . but . . . “

Tone becoming more determined: “As your Right-Hand, I’ll be there to shape them up, if they try.”

 _But I’m still hungry and he’s saying all these extreme things,_ Kikuko thought, feeling moody. And she didn’t want to eat any cucumbers, either. What kind of breakfast was that?

Still, she was straightening her socks and preparing to follow Gokudera out the door when she heard those voices from the kitchen -- but clearer this time.

“Kikuko, don’t worry too much about Hayato.”

And that woman must be -- 

“Auntie Bianchi! But -- if you’re here -- did he see you?”

Kikuko turned.

“I meant to come in my new panda costume,” Bianchi said, pushing the curtains aside and stepping lightly over the chairs that blocked the entrance. “However, I heard something so wonderful I forgot.”

“Panda costume? But why?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions like your father did, Kikuko. Because I was bored of the mask and the squirrel costume, obviously.” She was holding something in her hands -- a box. “Anyway, yes, Hayato saw me earlier and accidentally blew up your toaster. My sincerest apologies. We will repair everything which has been destroyed in your household.”

“You say that like there’s more!”

“Well, more importantly -- “ Bianchi’s gaze drifted towards the front door. Her brother had already gone outside and was, hopefully, out of earshot. If luck permitted, he wouldn’t come back inside and see her again. “-- I heard a rumour that the man I love is going to be tutoring you. How fortunate you are, Kikuko. Reborn’s the best hitman out there.”

All at once, the blurry memories of the conversation from the night before emerged at the forefront of Kikuko’s mind. The fog of sleep cleared, as if the evening mist were blown away by the clear blue morning sky. Reborn. Everything went back to that man -- Reborn.

Kikuko was beginning to have this dawning sense that there was a puzzle here which she was only just beginning to grasp, and in that puzzle was her father, Sawada Tsunayoshi, and all these adults who congregated at her household and talked to her knowingly about her parents and the years they’d known one another, and who said things that didn’t make any sense, like they expected her to get what they were talking about -- always dropping hints like they expected her mind to just fill in the blanks. 

Only she’d never really tried to do that. She’d never cared to, and she’d never had much interest. Who cared that much about what adults had going on? Especially adults like these, who didn’t seem to understand your world, either. But now, for the first time, she was really standing there wondering: Just what is Dad doing and how does he know them all, especially Reborn? If it was a puzzle, was Reborn the missing piece, or did he just supply the missing pieces?

“I want to stay and ask you about that,” Kikuko said, seriously. “But I have to be going.”

“I understand.” Bianchi wiped a tear that caught within the thick mascara of her eyelashes. “But don’t worry, Kikuko. Unlike what your father probably told you, I won’t try to kill you as I did him.”

“... Dad never told me anything like that, though. Wait. You tried to kill Dad?”

“I wanted Reborn to be free to live a dangerous life with me, but I eventually accepted that your father brought him through many near death events, too. So, now you get to participate in the thrill and joy of living on the edge with him, courting the potential of dying for love.”

Kikuko didn’t like how Bianchi was saying that. “W-well,” she said, “I really have to get going, though! I got up early to do my hair, but still, it’s getting late!”

“I understand. I’m so envious of you, Kikuko. But here, take this.” Bianchi held out the container which had been in her hands since she emerged from the kitchen.

Looking at it now, Kikuko noticed it was wrapped like a present, little red bow and all.

“This is from me, Haru, and Kyoko. It’s a box of breakfast croissants, golden-baked, as well as coffee and every kind of creamer we could think of.” She crossed the distance between them and gently pressed the gift into Kikuko’s open arms. “I didn’t trust Hayato, so I suggested we make breakfast for you.”

“Thank you,” Kikuko said. 

Against her own better judgment, she found herself smiling as heat rushed into her cheeks. Such an embarrassing reaction … but… looking at Aunt Bianchi, Kikuko had always thought she was a very, very pretty and stylish older lady; she had such great hair, like the perfect texture -- not too straight and not too wavy -- and her lips were always shaded, and her tattoos were awesome, and at family parties, she was always seen in such elegant dresses, and . . . really, Kikuko wouldn’t mind too much, being a woman like her.

Only, what was all this stuff about Reborn and killing? Were all these people just trying to mess with her head? Dad wouldn’t let them around if they were really dangerous, Kikuko felt, but.

“Your father Tsuna really did change my brother’s life,” Bianchi said -- and, more enigmatically, “Before him… Hayato was… but I think this is all something you’ll find out on your own. If I just tell you, it won’t mean anything. But my point is, ignore my brother’s prattling, Kikuko.”

Long hair swaying around her hips, Bianchi swung back towards the kitchen.

Pushing the curtains aside, she added, “It’s only that the love he feels for Tsuna is now also the love he feels for you. And when he loves someone, he acts with the greatest sort of loyalty and stupidity. And after all, it’s that time when everyone will be looking to you and expecting the past . . . so best you be prepared, even if it may seem a little unfair.”

“Even though I don’t really understand, I think you’re trying to help me, so thank you.”

Kikuko waved goodbye and quickly dashed outside, box under her arm, before she could feel any temptation to stay and talk further.

***

_**U** nder a sky like no other -- an eternal blue that tapered off into rain clouds which glowed golden by the force of backlit sunlight -- Sawada Tsunayoshi was getting married._

_To pre-empt Gokudera and Yamamoto from, predictably, fighting over who would be Best Man, Tsuna had broken the rules to allow them both to take on that role._

_And there -- the beautiful bridesmaids, Miura Haru, I-Pin, Bianchi, Hana (who looked a bit more at odds with the occasion than the others, rolling her eyes from time to time, but she smiled nonetheless), wearing the lavender dresses Kyoko had selected for them._

_For this day only, Hibari had allowed special use of the Foundation HQ, on whose stretching rooftops they now stood._

_“The cost, of course,” Tsuna explained to Kyoko, “is that I agreed to fight with him afterwards.”_

_She had just laughed. Well, some things never changed, did they?_

_At this height, the atmospheric effects were all the more visible. The sunset was going to be a sort of miracle, and high above, birds soared lazily. What a day, Tsuna kept thinking._

_What a day -- as though this were a dream coming true, little by little. And -- looking around at all these beloved faces -- well, this was Reborn’s doing, wasn’t it? Reborn had brought him these people._

_Nana had come, and, more awkwardly, so had Iemitsu._

_From a distance, he kept smiling knowingly at Tsuna in a way that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable._

_But, that was something to deal with at another time. Nothing would ruin this day._

_Arm in arm with Kyoko, Tsuna walked down the aisle, trying to contain his overflowing happiness at the sprays of flowers that were being thrown by all the Family -- Fuuta, Basil and the members of CEDEF, Enma and Shimon, Dino and the Cavallone Famiglia, the Ninth (clapping slowly, as aged and tired as he’d become, but he could still put forth the energy for a reciprocal smile), Chrome -- stately in her black suit -- as well as Kusakabe, and of course, Big Brother . . ._

_But, Big Brother --_

_\-- what was going on?_

_As soon as Tsuna’s gaze passed across him, Ryohei was pushing his way through the crowd and out into the aisle --_

_Wait, surely he wasn’t --_

_”SAWADA!” Ryohei called._

_“Onii-san!” Kyoko exclaimed happily. “What kind of surprise is this?”_

_Tsuna had enough cognizance to hear Gokudera mutter “that idiot,” and Yamamoto say, “a lot of sportsmanship” and then, in the following blink of an eye, Ryohei was rushing down the aisle at him, fists outstretched._

_”LET’S HAVE AN EXTREME, MANLY FIGHT IN HONOUR OF THE OCCASION!”_

_Tsuna was thinking: this is incredible. This can’t be happening. Not now. He couldn’t end up with bruises all over his face on his wedding day. And, looking over frantically at Kyoko beside him, he was also thinking: But I can’t go into Dying Will Mode and battle Big Brother, either -- that would look too ridiculous, and it would ruin the spirit of the wedding._

_So, with no other options, he grabbed Kyoko by the arm and made a run for it._

_Appropriately, he didn’t even have to say anything to her -- she must’ve had the same thought, because, with a knowing smile, she returned Tsuna’s grip in equal measure and ran as fast as her legs could carry her, in heels and with the train of her white dress flowing behind._

_That was so much fun,_ she said afterwards. _I never dreamed we’d go for a run like that. But, when I’m with you, everything always gets really exciting, and I never know what will happen._

 _My heart was beating quickly,_ he admitted.

 _I heard it,_ Kyoko said. _Isn’t that love, Tsu-kun?_

_Well, it was beating as much in terror as in love, but he hadn’t told her that._

_Still, with the force of his Sun Flames, Ryohei probably would’ve caught Tsuna had Hibari not intercepted. Informing him that crowding the aisle was strictly against Foundation as well as Namimori discipline, Hibari took Ryohei outside and, presumably, gave him the Manly Fight that his blood had been stirring to have._

_So, finally, the marriage could commence._

_But when Tsuna caught his breath and looked over at Kyoko -- something was wrong. Terribly wrong._

_The white silk chiffon was pooling on the ground, as though the dress had been discarded. Kyoko wasn’t wearing it._

_In fact, as Tsuna stared, he realized he didn’t even see Kyoko anymore. Where she should’ve been, the dress was just a puddle of taffeta and lace, and within it, something was moving around. Only the something looked too small to be a person._

_“What is this?” Tsuna asked out loud. He looked around, as though expecting an answer from one of the Guardians, or from someone in the crowd._

_But the crowd was thinning out. Little by little, the people in it were dissolving. Literally dissolving -- that is, simply dissipating into puffs of cloud and mist. And above, the impossible golden and blue sky was quickly turning dark. Ominous._

_Finally, from out of Kyoko’s dress, there emerged a powerful, rumbling voice:_

_“GUUUUUUUUUPYAH!”_

_Then, with a terrible tearing of fabric and all things beautiful, Lambo emerged, brows furrowed in petulant, childish aggression._

_But this was the five-year-old Lambo, who must’ve switched places with his older self. How, though? Just what was going on?_

_Before Tsuna could ask again, or seek help from Reborn, or Gokudera, or Yamamoto, Lambo had flung himself from the tatters of Kyoko’s wedding dress and attached himself to Tsuna’s face._

_“LAMBO HAS ARRIVED,” he yelled. “GIVE MEEEEE A KISS, TSUNA.”_

_“No way!” And Tsuna, for the first time in a while, felt as though he were fourteen again. “This must be a nightmare. I … “_

Hm.

“Wait just a minute. A nightmare. That’s exactly what this is, isn’t it?”

Having spoken those words, the Vongola blood began to awaken once more, and with it the intuition it provided. Before Tsuna’s eyes, or those eyes which existed within this dream, the shadows of confusion and deceit began to burn away, dissipating the dream phantoms. The atoms of dream-Lambo converted to a fine spray of indigo mist, and all around Tsuna, the tables and chairs and podium and plates and cups and the long carpet of the wedding aisle were flying into indigo ribbons which blew towards the sky like ashes, caught on a sudden gust of dream wind.

“And if it’s indigo mist, that means this nightmare is no coincidence, is it?” Tsuna continued. “Rather, it’s the work of a Mist illusionist. And I think I have a good idea of what individual would do something like this.”

Tsuna touched his hands, as though in prayer: the old stance, now resumed.

“I see, and you’re going to make a flame to burn away all those images?” the other presence answered. “But didn’t you enjoy the experience, Sawada Tsunayoshi? At least, I hoped to entertain you.”

Smiling, Tsuna dropped his hands to his sides. It was unnecessary, after all. This illusory world would soon end on its own, wouldn’t it. When he woke up, these visions would fade into the morning.

“It’s rude to spy on people’s interior lives, Mukuro.” Tsuna gazed through the Mist flames, waiting for them to coalesce into something like a human shape. For now, everything was becoming increasingly blurred. Formless. “Besides, those events were … nearly thirteen years ago, now.”

Nearly thirteen years since he had married Kyoko. Twelve since their daughter was born. What a staggering thought that was. Could life really pass so quickly, and yet leave people so much the same as they were before?

“Was it really like that? _Kufu._ ” Piece by piece, a couch appeared within the dream void, and Mukuro materialized on the cushions, elbows on his knees and hands cupping his chin. He leaned forward. “Your event, I mean. I didn’t alter the beginning -- only the end. So I take it that the remainder was how that day really transpired for you?”

“Yes,” Tsuna admitted. “Even the part about Big Brother was real. Kyoko and I ran together. Then lots of other things happened. I thought you didn’t like this sort of scenery, though. Do you remember, Mukuro? I invited you to the real version, and -- “

“And I never replied to that invitation,” Mukuro finished. He shrugged. “Chrome went, however, so you weren’t lacking in illusionists.”

“Of course, I see you as separate people.”

“But you’re right that such occasions as excite you hold no meaning to me, Sawada Tsunayoshi. Celebrations of that nature. I never did understand why humans do them. They seem rather… “ 

A searching look, and then:

“... scripted, to me. Weddings and such. However, whatever else I may say about it, your life is more interesting than that of most humans.”

Ever since they were teenagers, there were times like these -- times wherein Tsuna had a feeling that Mukuro was trying to better understand the human psyche through him and his friends. All in some odd, abstracted way.

Once, this proximity had frightened him, but now, it was more like a guest that you don’t always want to invite inside -- one who knocks on the doors but walks in before you open them, nonetheless.

“I didn’t visit you to speak about weddings, of course.” Mukuro laughed his familiar laugh. “I came to test your perceptions and your reflexes. And, concurrently, I came to let you know that those perceptions and reflexes must be more finely tuned than ever before -- for, as my sources give me to understand, the situation in Italy, into which you are walking, is . . . “

Mukuro appeared solemn, as though he were searching for a manner of explanation. Which might be close to the truth -- and without saying too much, as he was fond of not being _too_ helpful and having that reputation attached to him.

“If you’re trying to say Southern Italy is deteriorating, I’ve known this. That’s the reason we’re here.”

“ _Kufufu … “_ A thin sliver of light caught on the six within the red eye. “But, let me simply ask you: If the people themselves, those humans you fight for, if they become recalcitrant, and if they should begin to turn once again to their old political ideologies -- nationalism, fascism, those diseases of character which have plagued those poorer countries, and if they should come to see you as an enemy, or see a friend in iron-fisted repression -- if their despair drives them there, like so many stupid rats running from a sinking ship, then Sawada Tsunayoshi, what will you do?”

“Whatever I can,” Tsuna said. “Whatever _we_ can, I mean. The others are helping. Dino knows this area better than anyone. And Enma will assist me.”

“You may need more than that. Well, in any case, I think I’ve said enough.” Mukuro arose. The trident materialized at his side. “I don’t intend to assist you myself, but do make sure that the old strongholds don’t collapse, will you? After all, I intend to use them for my own ends.”

“It’s morning in Japan,” Tsuna said, “but it’s late at night in Italy. I’m going to continue to rest. I hope you get some sleep yourself, Mukuro.”

With the flame at forehead and fingertips, Tsuna released this dream.

Soon, he would go deeper than REM, where Mukuro, or anyone else, couldn’t reach.

***

Namimori Middle School.

Come to think of it, Kikuko didn’t feel very nervous about starting the new grade.

Two days ago, the thought had unsettled her somewhat and had been a cause of apprehension, because she had never really been great or popular with kids her own age, and she’d heard that during middle school, people became exceptionally mean and life was exceptionally hard in every way -- like even your body turned against you, didn’t it?

But that was two days prior, and after what happened on the night before her first day, and during that morning before class -- well, school was the least disturbing thing on her mind.

In fact, after all that scary and weird business with the older people in her family, school seemed like it’d be a great relief.

The one thing she kept thinking was that, even though she’d known other kids before and had friends . . . it wasn’t like they were the kind of friendships where you go home together and sleep over or anything. Was it because her house was always this full and noisy?

“As you requested, Eleventh, I’ll give you an incident report on what happened this morning.”

That was Gokudera, hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled aggression.

“--- a what?”

Requested what? Kikuko hadn’t said anything.

“When I saw my sister, I was alarmed and accidentally blew up a piece of your household property . . . “ (Well, Kikuko had already been informed of this, though she didn’t say so.) “ . . . moreover, I-pin was inside with the other women, and when my sister caused me to crash into her, I accidentally cracked her glasses. So, she attacked me because she believed I was a paper lantern ghost. Agh -- Uri!“

(Uri launched a sudden claw strike, and Gokudera swerved to miss a dog -- )

“I-pin-nee can be aggressive!”

But Kikuko knew. She remembered when they had gone shopping together and Big Sister had beaten up a whole gang of robbers without actually meaning to.

“Right, Eleventh, but I was able to talk her down. Then she was embarrassed and apologized. So I thought everything was fine -- “ (Aside from the destruction . . . ) “But then, all of a sudden, that idiot cow came out from under the sink.”

( -- then swerved to miss a trash can -- )

“Lambo-nii was under the sink? But why?”

“According to him, he got lost.” He shrugged. “But somehow, he must’ve had that Ten-Year Bazooka on him, because then he switched with his teenage self -- the cowprint version. I completely forgot, but when he does that, my sister thinks he’s the ghost of the boyfriend she poisoned to death, so she tries to kill him again. I figured she’d have gotten over that by now, but my sister really holds a grudge.”

( -- wait, were they in a residential area? The little red needle was shooting way over to the other side . . . )

“Auntie can be scary! But -- everything you say, it really worries me!”

Kikuko was getting the shivers just thinking about the situation as described. Was this what life would always be like when Dad was away? If so, why couldn’t she do something about it?

“The stupid cow did get poisoned a bit,” Gokudera admitted -- and now he was rolling his eyes, “but I took him to the hospital, so he’ll be fine, Eleventh! Don’t worry -- he’s survived being poisoned lots of times, and I’ve been beaten up hundreds of times, too!”

( -- now racing past sidewalks and tearing up someone’s lawn, with the wheel splashing dirt on an older lady who was bending over to pick up the morning paper -- )

_”Even if you say that . . . “_

“Anyway, that’s why I returned late. I’m sorry, Eleventh. But I bought breakfast along the way for you.”

“But what’s an ‘incident report’?”

( -- and, finally, swinging past several other pedestrians who had congregated together, mostly school children -- and now a whole pack of dogs were barking at them -- )

For the sake of politeness and because she was easily guilted by Uncle’s pleading eyes, Kikuko had been intermittently munching on one cucumber.

(It would go well with Dad’s lifetime supply of tomatoes . . . why did his business keep sending those?)

But. Again: Here was the weird thing about Gokudera -- why was he so angry, with such harsh body language, when he would blurt out really expectant and hopeful and dorky things all the time? It had never made any sense, but. Adults were strange people.

Still, Kikuko thought, for all that he could be weird, and he’d almost collided with various objects/animals/people this morning . . . well, the car was warm, and Uri was purring up against her in the seat (Uri always snuggled Kikuko), and this was a nice thing he was doing for her (whatever the reasons he gave), and she felt safe somehow.

Despite everything, she had always felt like she was in a great protective circle against the wider world, like she was cradled in love, even if she and Dad's friends didn’t always fully understand one another.

_I know if I need help with my classes, he’ll make sure I have good grades,_ she mused. _But what about Uncle -- that is, Reborn, saying he’ll be my tutor? Maybe I should ask Uncle Gokudera about all that . . ._

Gokudera was smart. Kikuko had seen him in her father’s personal office when the two of them met, and though she hadn’t listened in on every detail, she’d seen him taking notes feverishly in a script which she couldn’t even decipher at all.

He had his own personal library in their household where he kept books about science and history and politics and fiction and encyclopedias -- actually, Kikuko remembered that, when she had been younger, she used to sit on his lap while he showed her maps and she batted her fat baby fists on whole countries, or on pictures of dinosaurs and other ancient animals, or sea creatures, or planets in the solar system, and she cooed over them while Gokudera would smile proudly and give out names and mathematical formulas that she couldn’t possibly remember then and still didn’t know now . . . and Dad had just stood in the doorway and looked on with all the love in the world.

If Bianchi knew about Reborn, then definitely Gokudera, who was called her father’s Right-Hand Man, who her father said was his beloved confidant and associate… definitely, he knew everything, and he could tell her everything.

So, Kikuko knew she could -- and should -- ask him about what Reborn said to her.

But -- did she really want to know?

_Like I do, but then I don’t._

Kikuko frowned. She sat, petting Uri tenderly and feeling the response of the contended nuzzling.

_If I ask -- will it change everything?_

She wondered, but then, while indecision still hung over Kikuko, Gokudera suddenly blurted, “Eleventh! We’re here!”

Namimori Middle School. 

And they were on time -- early, even, Kikuko thought as she checked her phone. Of course, the fact that they had taken a shortcut by speeding through a neighborhood probably didn’t hurt the timing, but … there it was. The school that Dad and everyone else had gone to. Kikuko leaned against the window, pressing her hands to the glass and chewing her lip in thought.

It was sort of a depressing place, with grey walls outside and a drab, brown-ish exterior and regimented windows and regular trees that were all the same height. It wasn’t a place you get too excited about looking at, nor a place where you felt like anything exciting could happen. But maybe inside, you could learn something worthwhile. Kikuko knew, dimly, that this was where her father had first met not only her mother, but many of the friends which he’d had for most of his life. He hadn’t met them at his business… he’d met them in school. 

But to her, Dad was of such an age that it was too impossible to really wrap her mind around the idea.

With the clicking of the seat-belt, Gokudera exited the car and ran to Kikuko’s door, opening it for her with an exaggerated gesticulation in the direction of the school; they were before the front walkway, where students were milling towards their classes. 

Some trudged and some skipped, some walked alone and some came together in excited murmurs, some had dour expressions and some were smiling -- all shapes and sizes, and a handful turned and glanced over their shoulders at the minor scene of this car and the former inhabitants who were leaving its interior -- adult, adolescent, and Box Weapon animal.

“This place is as lame as I remember,” Gokudera muttered, though he was smiling. “But a person of your greatness and stature will surely make it a lot better. It was the same with the Tenth, of course.”

“I don’t know about all that, but . . . thank you.”

“I’ll stick around and patrol the perimeter, just in case you run into any trouble. As the Right-Hand of the Tenth, I’m also your Right-Hand, so don’t hesitate to call me!” 

Again -- that serious tone! And he was making a fist -- that hand with all those rings, now raised up in a threatening gesture.

“If anyone tries to give you shit, Eleventh, let me know and I’ll take them out!”

Kikuko groaned. _He’ll scare people away!_ she thought, a touch embarrassed now.

“I’ll do okay by myself, Uncle,” she said -- and she tried to make her tone sound more assertive, like she heard Dad use with him. “You really work hard for us, but I’ll take care of myself now. You should go home and rest.”

“We’ll meet up again this afternoon at the same place, and I’ll escort you home,” Gokudera said. Kikuko didn’t know whether the previous comments had registered or not. “This responsibility was entrusted to me.”

 _I don’t know if I can live up to everything he's said,_ Kikuko was thinking, and blushing at the previous praise as to her greatness. _But -- when you say it like that, I really want to try!_

“Thank you … “

(But, what was an ‘incident report,’ really?)

***

And so Kikuko walked up the path to Namimori Middle School. But, lingering in her mind, she remembered what that man had said last night. Meeting her at school... and so, where was he? 

_Where was Reborn?_

“Good job, Kikuko.”

Though the day had been warm and without a breeze, a sharp wind suddenly rose.

Kikuko felt it across her thighs, ruffling the hem of her skirt and blowing her hair around her face. She turned, recognizing that authoritative tone and that voice at once.

So, there it was again. Just like before, and with the timing, it felt almost as though she had summoned him.

“The fact that you told Gokudera to go rest, I mean. Prioritizing your subordinates’ well-being is a good move for a boss.” 

That was Reborn -- only -- only -- no wonder Kikuko hadn’t seen him, because instead of wearing his suit, he was covered with grey (paint?) and standing on the circular base where a statue ought to be!

“How absurd!” she blurted, unable to contain herself. “I mean -- that -- that!”

This was even worse than Gokudera, surely.

And here Kikuko had been expecting something cool, even if there were to be a dangerous feeling! But what was _this_?

“I can see you have trouble with a lack of creativity, Kikuko. I used to wear disguises with Tsuna all the time.”

“Creative? It’s just weird!”

Statue-Reborn, the pretend-stone warrior monk, set aside the khakkhara. 

“With my body like it is now, it’s harder to hide myself,” he went on, as though he hadn’t heard her, “but for a skilled assassin, that’s only an obstacle to be overcome.”

Kikuko squinted. What did that mean, anyway? Had he been a kid at this school when Dad was? But, though they looked like they might be close in age, Reborn seemed older, and it was hard to think of the two of them going to school together and playing pranks in the way he was describing. It didn’t add up, really.

“A while back, the scientist Verde created a suit that could render a person invisible. He made it to kill me, but because I can’t stand him, I stole it from his laboratory.” Reborn said this nonchalantly and gave a slight nod. “So, I’ll be wearing that and watching you during your classes.”

“That’s pretty hard to believe . . . “

“There are strong people you’re going to need to recruit today, Kikuko. I won’t tell you who. Not yet,” Reborn continued, as the morning bell began to ring from within and the students who were walking past started to frantically increase their pace. “If you need to reach me, you can always talk to my servants, the beetles.”

“I can’t deal with this.” Kikuko made a face. “That’s gross, that you’d even say it. Plus, I have to go!”

***

_As Kikuko pressed the glass doors open and rushed to class, forcing herself to put all thoughts of Reborn and her family to the back of her mind，she thought she heard Reborn say one more thing, and that was something about a Dying Will bullet . . ._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so much backstory. but it'll be necessary to later plot developments, so hopefully the timeline isn't too jarring.)

[ｔｗｅｌｖｅ ｙｅａｒｓ ｂｅｆｏｒｅ]

_A Target of the Past: Part i._

The truth was this: Sawada Tsunayoshi was not a politician, not a global leader, and not even a person who had particularly complex ideas about how an organization or social unit ought to be structured.

Lambo, raised in a mafia family from birth, had once confessed that he never saw Tsuna as any sort of Boss, but rather as a doting Big Brother.

Tsuna was the opposite of disappointed by this revelation.

He lived by simple devotion to a single principle. That principle was the safety of his friends and family.

Lower-case f, though sometimes -- more often than he wanted -- this was a distinction which had become blurred.

Tsuna didn’t want to fight. He hadn’t ever wanted to fight. From the very beginning, all he had ever desired was a peaceful life with Kyoko.

In the beginning, when Mukuro ran amok, it was Fuuta’s kidnapping and Gokudera’s injuries which had goaded Tsuna into action.

When Varia had challenged Vongola as the Rings’ successors, Tsuna would have happily abandoned his ancestors’ invaluable possessions, along with the title of Vongola X, but the threat to the lives of his friends, and seeing Lambo beaten and bloody, had made escape an impossible choice.

Even when faced with Byakuran’s dictatorial conquest of the entire planet (and who knows how many other Earths), it had been the death of a single girl, Uni, which had finally spurred Tsuna into the rage that was necessary to put an end to the threat.

The Ninth Boss of Vongola, as if in a test of Tsuna’s personal heroism, had gone so far as to tell him that, were Tsuna to become Vongola X, then he would have the official stature necessary to redeem the Vongola and put an end to the violence which had plagued Giotto’s organization.

Tsuna would, so it might be inferred, be able to stop future Mukuros, Xanxuxes, Byakurans, let alone the systems and structures which created them, and he could clean up that world from which Reborn and the Ninth emerged.

But Tsuna had refused.

And, as with every other time, it was because of an attack against one of his beloved friends, Yamamoto, that Tsuna went along with Reborn and the Ninth by attending the Inheritance Ceremony.

Later, it would be other friends: Chrome, Enma, and even Reborn himself.

Tsuna didn’t think of himself as an altruistic man.

He wasn’t like one of the heroes from Lambo’s comics -- someone who discovers he has great abilities, then rushes off to save as many civilians as possible, along with the world.

In fact, the older Tsuna became and the more he learned about the world and everything happening in it, the more he realized there were too many problems to solve, and selfish though it was, he wanted the same peace as he’d desired since his childhood.

Besides, the truth was that not everything could be solved with flames and strength and Dying Will and all the raw power it entailed. Cities, territories, countries, had to resolve problems through diplomacy, trade negotiations, checks and balances.

You could go and take out (as Gokudera might put it) a local mob boss, warlord, or dictator, or eradicate a whole criminal organization, but you might be opening a power vacuum if you did.

The others didn’t always see eye to eye with this kind of thinking.

Gokudera wanted Vongola involved in all the old disputes and to settle them once and for all. Yamamoto was wherever a challenge might present itself, even if it worried the hell out of Tsuna. Hibari desired discipline and a swift end to troublemakers. Chrome and Ryohei were more agreeable to Tsuna’s manner of thinking -- but then, they presented their own challenges to his approach.

Mukuro, who had wanted to eradicate the mafia and control global leaders, had not necessarily lost sight of large-scale thinking about Italy, Japan, or the world, but his core motives or exact approach remained as enigmatic as ever, and Tsuna, who had once threatened to end Vongola himself, just had to believe they were on the same page. Somehow, somewhere.

And Xanxus? Had Xanxus lived during the World War, he would’ve shot Mussolini in the head, and damn the consequences. He wasn’t a hero either, but for exactly different reasons.

Southern Italy eventually became a priority of Tsuna’s, but not because it was Southern Italy.

With the passage of time, there were too many friends living there for it to be ignored.

***

The thing was that even if Tsuna could avoid Italy and the mafia, the mafia and Italy couldn’t avoid him. Or maybe that was backwards. Maybe it was his friends and associates who couldn’t avoid it.

During Spanner’s and Irie Shouichi’s college years, the Murgia family kidnapped the two and attempted to force them to create new and higher level technology -- moscas, Boxes, facilities with specialized weapons.

Tsuna rushed off to rescue them, but once in Italy, he was intercepted by Lal Mirch, who walked with the limping Shouichi’s arm around her shoulder.

Limping, Tsuna saw with horror, because both knees had been shot out.

“They did try to torture me into revealing our secrets,” Shouichi said, smiling in such a dopey way that you knew he was on a pain-killer high. “But, Tsuna, I didn’t give anything away -- and, compared to the terror I lived with when I was pretending with Byakuran . . . day in and day out, this isn’t so bad. I haven’t had a single ulcer yet . . . “

“Find a hospital to put him in,” Lal huffed. It was said with a sort of contempt, but not necessarily for Shouichi. That was just Lal Mirch.

In addition to the hospital, however, Shouichi ended up healing himself with his own flames.

Giannini was hiding in the Italian Vongola base -- under a table, but for some reason one in the middle of the room, and when Tsuna walked in, he yelled, “I can’t believe they would kidnap Spanner when I, Giannini, am the superior weapons inventor!”

As Kyoko said, some things never changed.

Tsuna stayed in Italy to intercept Byakuran, who, just as he’d predicted, appeared at the airport -- specifically, a candy shop within it -- and, greeted him with a bright smile. “Tsunayoshi-kun~! How nice to see you again.”

“Byakuran,” Tsuna said -- quietly, and a little wary of what he thought was happening here: “Did you come to Italy for revenge? Be honest with me.”

“Tsunayoshi-kun, I wonder where you come up with such ideas.” He placed a handful of chocolates in his mouth and added, “I was just thinking a small accident might completely wipe the Murgia Famiglia off the face of the Earth, is all. Or possibly this whole region. Do you think Naples’ candy shops are good enough to justify its continued existence?”

Byakuran grinned and tilted his head.

Strange how you could be so defensive of the person you’d tormented more than anyone, but in a perverse sense, there was a proprietary thinking at work here, Tsuna supposed.

Really, this was the kind of thing that Iemitsu was supposed to intercept, and Tsuna honestly debated letting him do so, but the next day, Fuuta had arrived and announced that this was a situation ranked #1 most likely to involve more innocent bystanders. How the ranking planet could’ve deduced this fact so quickly was a mystery. Sort of.

So Tsuna got Dino (and Romario) and went to talk with the Murgia second-in-command.

Which resulted in a long, drawn-out fight involving some weird flames, and then afterwards Vindice arrested the leaders -- on some technicality or other, but Tsuna didn’t complain this time, because Dino had told him about how the local judges couldn’t be trusted, and, with regular police, too many people got plea bargains and slaps on the wrists.

And because Dino was able to offer several of the younger, hard-up members better jobs and salaries (and more honest work) elsewhere, some of the kids eventually repented.

One, a boy who went only by his (probably) surname, Croce, and who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, even went so far as to become a confessor (that is, a pentito) about the Camorra crimes he was aware of.

Of course, he then became a target as well, and because Tsuna had become friends with the kid by that point, he had to rush back to protect him.

So it started all over again, and so it went on for years, and every time Tsuna told himself he’d pull back and escape from the clutches of these internecine politics, another person -- often a teenager, but sometimes an even younger local -- turned into a close comrade whom he and the others had to fight to protect.

“This is what being a man is all about, Tsuna,” Iemitsu would say, in that grating way.

But the thing was that, in some respect, Tsuna knew he hadn’t personally encountered the worst of it. Not yet.

And the other thing was that he knew he didn’t want to.

He’d seen people, especially his Guardians, injured in too many ways to count. They had always survived and fully recovered, even from overwhelming violence, and often miraculously, but you never got used to this sort of thing.

Or, more like, they seemed to, but on their behalf, he didn’t.

And Tsuna had also seen people die. He’d seen Uni die. But even that, wonder of wonders, had eventually been reversed.

But the worst deeds mafia could do -- the sort of things Tsuna had encountered in his Vongola Trial?

He had never actually come across that. Not in the flesh. Pain, even torture of a sort, yes, but not the kind with grim finality.

As CEDEF and COMSUBIN paramilitary, Colonnello and Lal Mirch participated in a sting operation which saw to it that various clan leaders -- some who had lurked in the shadows for years -- were arrested.

“Unless reforms are made in politics, that’s just chasing the dog’s tail,” Tsuna overheard Reborn telling them. “These aren’t just large groups who are separate from average people. Here, that system is baked into average people.”

 _Once,_ he went on to say -- and he’d smiled -- I would’ve taken them all out myself, in the old way. _But Tsuna . . ._

But Tsuna: it went without saying.

“I don’t care,” Lal had snarled in a hot rage. “If it stops this, or if it doesn’t -- I don’t care. What matters is the here and now. And . . . what was done to that woman . . . to all those people.”

“You’ve always been impulsive and short-sighted.”

Reborn’s tone wasn’t critical, though.

Lal was personally involved in this and had been for years. That’s why her anger burned as fiercely as it did. Righteous anger.

Tsuna had known what they were discussing, but they didn’t go into the details when he was within earshot -- trying to blunt the harsh edges, but he knew, nonetheless.

Iemitsu put his arm around Tsuna’s shoulder and with a knowing look, said, “How’s my adorable grand-daughter and my beautiful daughter-in-law, Tsuna? And your Mom? I’m missing Nana’s cooking and cuddles again …”

And then he would throw back his head and laugh in that exaggerated way.

The implication was left unsaid: Go back home. Forget about this for now.

***

Home was Kyoko and Kikuko, who was then a baby.

Home was Namimori, with a view towards the old school.

Home was hearing about Yamamoto’s league winnings and Haru’s travels.

Home was I-pin going to college and becoming a hopeful for medical school.

Home was Gokudera shelving new books in his library in Tsuna’s house.

You could say there was nothing else in the world besides that.

***

Then one day, that other life and “home” collided, and Tsuna’s world almost shattered.

Kyoko had been out of the house. At the Namimori shopping mall, she was walking through the department stores with Kikuko, who was then in her stroller and utterly uncomprehending, as guileless as Tsuna wished he could be again.

When Kyoko stepped outside into the parking structure, bending over to lift her child from the confines of the device, someone fired shots at them.

Later, Kyoko would say, sadly, “It sounded like the firecrackers kids used to play with, Tsu-kun… when we were young… or like the fireworks we watched back then…”

One bullet struck Kyoko in the arm, just below the connecting point of the shoulder. Another hit her in the thigh.

As frightened and in pain as she was, Kyoko had, through some upwelling of infinitely powerful maternal instinct, managed to hold the now-wailing baby close and drop to the ground in a protective huddle.

Reborn would later say that whatever soul was within Kyoko was a source of will-power so great that it was no wonder she could be a sister to the man who was perpetually in Dying Will mode, for in that moment, as Kyoko lay on the cement, with her blood seeping into her golden hair, and more bullets due overhead, she had dragged herself forward one-handedly. Her fingernails scraped the ground. The arm which held Kikuko trembled with the strain of Kyoko’s movements, and the other arm was badly wounded.

And then? And then nothing.

No one had arrived to save her. Not Gokudera and Yamamoto, who were on a mission at the time. Not Kyoko’s own brother, who was also tied up with work. Not even Reborn. Bianchi and perhaps I-pin would’ve been nearby, in other circumstances, but there had been such a lengthy span of peace and quiet in recent months that no one had been overly worried about Kyoko going out by herself.

But this fact was something Tsuna would think about incessantly over the next few weeks -- the next few months; hell, it left an imprint for _years_ \-- the fact that everyone was preoccupied because of him, doing whatever he had told them to do or being wherever he’d asked them to be. Of course, Tsuna had always known it could happen. That someone could go after his family, even though they weren’t involved in any of this. He had recognized the possibility, and yet.

What happened was this: No one arrived to save Kyoko and their child.

Whatever person or persons had launched the attack simply ceased firing -- which suggested (as Reborn would emphasize) that the whole violent incident had probably been a _warning_.

And Tsuna would re-play that aspect of the scenario over in his head, too. Imagining that if someone had really wanted Kyoko dead, they could’ve walked into the parking structure and stood over her as she lay on the ground… in the execution-style… and…

No. Never. He would _never_ let this happen. Never again.

***

Kikuko, in incomprehension and fear, cried with vocal chords not yet capable of a fully fledged scream.

Kyoko, with what strength she had, managed to call for an ambulance. Soon, the parking lot was filled and filling with concerned citizens eager to assist the injured woman and the terrified baby.

“Please,” Kyoko said, through shaking breaths. “Please, please, don’t let them hurt my daughter.”

Strangers were careful not to move her for fear of exacerbating her injury. And Kyoko, looking at the huddling, worried, whispering crowd, was filled with panicked anxiety that any one or more of them might be the individual or individuals responsible. Any one of those unfamiliar faces, anyone lurking there and looking down at her -- any such person, unknown to her, might well be her assassin, come to torment her or watch her suffering or continue to warn her with their knowing eyes.

The thing about an act of terror, of course, was that it was exactly that: it doesn’t end with the pain, with the wounded or dying.

It continues with the fear that makes your world turn on its head, that frames strangers with suspicious eyes and makes other human beings feel like unsafe terrain. And this is always the point. In this man’s eyes -- is that the look of one who acts as a sniper? In that woman’s commiserating stare, is that a pretense of warmth held long enough so she can report back to someone about the victim’s (target’s) condition?

***

Both Kyoko and the baby were taken to the hospital.

It was Hana who arrived first, throwing the door wide open in her haste to arrive at her childhood friend’s side. And Kyoko’s first, choked-sobbing words: “Oh, please, Hana, don’t tell Onii-san… not yet… oh, he’ll be so upset…”

In another time, place, and mood, Hana might have appreciated the role reversal that was Kyoko wanting to hide the truth, or perhaps even fabricate a story to safeguard her brother against his fears. But the situation was too dire and too frightening for that now. And she, who was supposed to be the levelheaded one here -- she had no idea what the hell to think, and all she could say, hands clasping her face in horror, was, “Kyoko. Kyoko. My God. Sweetheart. No, no.”

“I’m okay.” Kyoko wept and shuddered and somehow tried to manage a weak smile. “I’m just scared. What if -- they come back? Hana, when Onii-san and Tsu-kun find out… I’m really worried they’ll... “

“They’ll lose it,” Hana agreed. “But I don’t care what they think right now. What matters is your safety and your life, Kyoko. Do you hear me? If you need to come to our place -- “

“Kikuko,” Kyoko said, tiredly, leaning back against the pillow. She gestured toward the other bed.

Wonder of wonders, the baby had not taken so much as a scratch. Not that the doctors could detect, at any rate. But something wasn’t right with her. Kikuko had fallen fast asleep with her eyes scrunched closed, as though she were caught in a wince, and she refused to wake up. Instead, she slept like the dead, or like a person in a coma, but without the peaceful expression.

Hana had often thought this was all such a bad idea. For Kyoko to marry Sawada Tsunayoshi… of course, Sasagawa Ryohei was a part of the same organization, so in a sense, there was danger for her as well, but it was different when you were dealing with the Boss, and Sawada was the core of everything, even when it came to her own husband’s business dealings.

They would all be a lot safer if Sawada could get into another line of work, wouldn’t they?

And now, Hana thought, looking down at that child who was so perfectly the miniature of both of her parents: and now, to have this little baby? What a bad idea. What a bad idea, really.

But, that was Kyoko. You couldn’t talk her out of something like this.

“Kikuko’s life must be protected.”

Kyoko looked up at the ceiling, glassy-eyed and cheeks wet with her tears.

How a human being could bleed.

Even though her injuries were not fatal, nor even close to it, Kyoko’s blood stained the ground, her dress, and now her bandages.

First, she had worried for the baby, and, as an afterthought, for herself, and then there had been the pressing terror of the anonymity of the assault. Now, of course, there was the shame of wounds and vulnerability, but the more primal and urgent feeling was that Tsuna and Ryohei couldn’t -- _mustn’t_ do something rash. How painful it would inevitably be to see the looks on their faces. On all of their faces, really.

***

Tsuna did not take the news well. No one could have imagined he would have.

Not the first time -- God only knew this was far from the first time someone had targeted _Tsuna’s loved ones_ ; how many times had it been (and how many times would it be)? But to go for Kyoko, utterly uninvolved in his business world as she was, and to come for Kikuko, who was just a _baby_ , who could have so easily died --

“Unforgivable,” Tsuna declared, upon his return. And his tone in that moment had unsettled even Yamamoto, for it was too even. Too cold. The tone of a person in absolute shock.

The light of the Dying Will flame burned on his forehead. Flames lit on his hands. Then, Tsuna was gone. Into the air, into the night, like a comet.

On that night, a hush fell, as though Vongola had begun to break.

Gokudera pressed his face and his fist to the hospital wall and wished for the prayers of the old religion, that of his father and those before him. Yamamoto’s smile became so strained and alarming that it was no longer a smile -- but, always the calmest of them, he called his father for support, for back-up dinner for everyone here. And Yamamoto resolved to let them all stay at his place.

Gokudera and Ryohei would need it. Tsuna, maybe (if he accepted) when he returned.

I-Pin and Lambo, still just teenagers then, arrived sobbing.

“It was our fault,” I-Pin kept saying. “Of course, you all were busy with Vongola orders, but protecting Miss Haru and Miss Kyoko has always been _our_ job!”

“You kids can’t blame yourselves.”

Through the pain, Yamamoto managed to look at them fondly. Sadly.

More than baseball, that was his talent: reassurance, and the thing about it was that when others in the vicinity were in pain, then he had always been able to re-focus his feelings away from himself and onto stepping up to assist others -- there was a sort of mercy in that, though it would be wrong to call others’ emotions any sort of relief.

Always the strong shoulder in a crisis: that’s how Tsuna saw Yamamoto. And even Gokudera agreed, though he would never say so aloud. Tonight would be exhausting. A lot of huddling everyone together, a lot of giving a sleeve that would be soaked with tears. In some other time and place, Yamamoto had known what it was to lose the only physical family he had left.

But -- could even he reach Tsuna now? Could any of them?

“The Tenth is going through unbearable pain.” Gokudera’s breathing came in and out as a series of shudders. And you could tell how bad he felt because he hadn’t stopped to insult Lambo, or even Yamamoto, which was scary as hell unto itself. “Look, we can’t just stand around like this. Did we come through all these … battles… all these years… to be so useless? Yamamoto -- “

They exchanged a serious look.

“-- get Hibari on the phone. Lambo, get Fuuta. I’ll contact Cavallone and my sister. We have to figure out who did this. We have to make them sorry they ever even _dreamed_ of trying to hurt the Tenth. Kyoko. The Eleventh.”

***

Pieces shuffled.

Kyoko lay in bed, recovering through a morphine high.

Kikuko lay in bed, still with closed eyes.

Ryohei broke things and only Hibari intervened to stop him.

When Hibari arrived, Kusakabe at his side -- as sober, stone-faced, and dry-eyed as he always was during times of great turmoil -- Yamamoto felt a great relief. Out of them all, Hibari did not deal in self-blame, guilt, or remorse; such emotions were extraneous to his sense of purpose, which, cold though it could feel in times of grief, had often been a literal life-saver.

If Yamamoto could supply a warm shoulder to lean against, then after the mourning individual had wiped their tears, Hibari could and would put them to use somehow.

And he would keep a person so busy that there would be no time for despair.

“You all crowd uselessly,” Hibari said while Kusakabe escorted the gathering from the hospital.

He looked from one fearful face to another, addressing them all together:

“Whether you blame yourself, or -- “

A glance at Ryohei, who wept with all the furious sounds of a wild beast.

“ -- in some sense, Sawada Tsunayoshi, it doesn’t matter. We made our choices. Including that woman. If you try to assign guilt, unless it’s towards those who committed this act, then it’s a pointless and futile thing you do, and I won’t forgive you for wasting my time.”

“Then we’re on the same page.” Gokudera was serious now, in full Right-Hand mode. “What matters is that we get to the bottom of this. I spoke with Cavallone and Kozato Enma. They’re on their way here.”

“And Fuuta will be bringing the list of people most likely to try to harm Young Vongola and her mother,” Lambo added.

“Fuuta’s really something, isn’t he? Haha.” Yamamoto looked at Lambo and Gokudera. Anything he could say or do to lighten the mood -- but really, Fuuta and Lambo had grown up together, like Tsuna’s little brothers, and it was Fuuta who had taken especial care of Lambo.

“Obviously. Idiot.”

Gokudera’s voice was tired, his words clipped and brief. But, hey, he had finally insulted one of them, which, Yamamoto reasoned, was an excellent sign. It was scary even to Yamamoto when Gokudera stopped being rude.

“This is invaluable information Fuuta is supplying,” Gokudera went on, “but what we also need is to assess the crime scene. We have the bullets.”

They struck Kyoko, after all. And that thought gave Gokudera such a cold sweat that he itched for a smoke.

“Rather, the police have them. Get access to those. Hibari, that’s where I trust you and Suzuki. I can do the ballistic fingerprinting. I have the equipment at the Tenth’s house.”

Reborn had taught Gokudera the in’s and out’s of this sort of thing, Yamamoto knew. And given what an easy hand Gokudera was with delicate scientific equipment and testing, he was a natural. No doubt he’d work tirelessly on matching the bullets to a specific gun.

“Wait a second, Gokudera,” Yamamoto put in, “now that you mention it… Tsuna’s house. Wouldn’t that be…”

They exchanged a tense look. Yamamoto didn’t even have to finish the sentence. Both of them knew: Tsuna’s house. With Kyoko in the hospital, and with Tsuna who-could-say where, and with most everyone else _here_... then who was guarding Tsuna’s house?

“Shit.” Gokudera shook his head. “That’s right. I have to get over there. Now. Before someone makes it a target.”

“I already thought of that,” Hibari said coolly. “I’ve ensured that Sawada Tsunayoshi’s territory will be safeguarded. However.”

He gave a chilly, accusatory glare at Yamamoto and Gokudera. “You failed to call me or consider such matters sooner. Hours have already elapsed since that attack on Tsuna’s wife. I can’t guarantee that everything in the house is secure. If something was tampered with, or removed, between then and now, we will find out. Nevertheless -- “

Though Yamamoto felt no animosity, he decided Hibari wasn’t being entirely fair on that point.

“Hey,” he said. “Ryohei.”

“I protect the family with my body,” Ryohei said instantly. Deep, throaty-voiced, heaving breaths. As serious as any of them had ever heard him be. “It should have been _me_ that took those bullets. Not my sister. Now, my precious niece is traumatized -- “

“The baby shows no signs of injuries,” Hibari noted. It was still jarring when he talked obliquely about “the baby,” with all of them now knowing for sure that he didn’t mean Reborn anymore. “Your sister is recovering. Again, you waste my time with these speeches.”

“I’ll stay with her. Absolutely,” Ryohei went on, shaking his head.

“It’s none of my business,” Hibari continued, “but that your sister went to your wife and not you speaks volumes. You and Sawada Tsunayoshi are being selfish around her. Typically.”

“Why, you -- “ And now Gokudera was newly roused. Insulting Lawnhead was one thing, but to say that about the Tenth -- “It’s easy for a guy _like you_ to say.”

Easy, that is, for a person incapable of love. That was Gokudera’s view, anyway. Yamamoto, as always, had a more charitable interpretation of reality.

And there he was again, placing his hand on Gokudera’s shoulder.

“Hey. We’ve already agreed with each other and with Hibari that we’re wasting time, right?” Yamamoto’s face was sympathetic, quasi-pleading, as if to say, _Now is not the time, remember?_ “Speaking of Tsuna, I’m worried about him. Don’t you guys think one of us should try to go find him?”

Of course, the thought was potentially absurd. How did you catch a guy who had gone aerial? Take Hibari’s helicopter, or something? In a better mood or situation, Gokudera would’ve no doubt been the first to get sarcastic about the improbability of the suggestion. But then, they still would’ve found a way. The bigger issue here was that no one could be sure whether Tsuna wanted to be found. Most likely, the answer here was no.

“The Tenth will come back when he’s ready,” Gokudera said.

He shrugged, but everything about the words and the subsequent motion had a half-hearted look to them, as though Gokudera, ever trapped in anxiety, was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. The thing is that he had to believe in Tsuna to the core, and when Tsuna was gone, he had to step up to the plate, as he was doing now, and he had to fill in, emotionally -- what else was the Right-Hand for? But he struggled. Still. Maybe he would never fully stop struggling or stop self-doubting that Tsuna was leaving him -- them -- behind.

“He’s going to call a meeting, I think,” he continued, basing this assumption mostly on the fact that Tsuna was their boss and when he got Serious, he tended to bring people together. “So we’re doing the right thing. We’ve saved him the trouble of bringing together the Guardians. Everyone is here. Well, everyone except -- “

“Chrome and Mukuro,” Yamamoto finished, meeting Gokudera’s eyes in their mutual surprise and recognition.

Oh, right. The Mist Guardians.

It wasn’t as though anyone had forgotten about them, per se, but.

Chrome had never entirely stopped being a private person of great interiority. And Mukuro, well, no one could ever discern exactly what he was up to or where. It wasn’t like you forgot them, but there was an aloofness that made them hard to account for at times, no matter how much Gokudera and Yamamoto had accepted Chrome as a close companion.

The strange part was that this was entirely different from Hibari, who, though also aloof -- really, more aloof than Chrome in some ways; she would cry or show feelings, at least -- tended to fill a room with a sense of tangible purpose. And his thoughts were always clear. You didn’t feel like you were only ever seeing a shadow of the full picture, when it came to Hibari. But the Mists were a different story.

“We should definitely contact Chrome,” Yamamoto said, pragmatically. “She loves Kyoko and Tsuna. This’ll be hard for her, too.”

“I don’t have her number anymore, Baseball Idiot. Do _you_?”

“Now that you mention it… every number I get for her keeps disconnecting… haha…”

Hibari would be a better bet, they figured. He had worked with Chrome on a number of occasions. He seemed to like her, in as much as he liked anyone. She was quiet and didn’t crowd. And as for Mukuro -- well, considering Hibari’s less than friendly interest in that man -- if anyone knew about his whereabouts -- it was worth a shot, right?

When met with their stares, however, Hibari simply gave the mildest of shrugs.

“I won’t contact them,” he said, resolute. Before anyone could object, he added: “They’ll come.”

Gokudera would never trust or particularly like Mukuro. Well, after this many years, one might wonder (as Yamamoto and Tsuna tended to) to what extent he really still distrusted Mukuro and to what extent it was just sort of a time-honoured tradition to decide he didn’t trust him. But maybe that distinction didn’t matter much if the end result was the same. Predictably, he sighed in frustration, and everyone knew why.

But Gokudera was practical enough to know that if they had enemies to infiltrate, then you couldn’t underestimate the importance of good illusionists.

“Never mind about that now,” Kusakabe put in, suddenly. “I just received the signal. Hibird has spotted Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

***

Later, Tsuna would apologize to them all.

No one would be surprised by this, even though none among them believed he had anything to apologize for. Even Hibari, with his rather severe opinions, was not of the opinion that Tsuna needed to apologize (apologies, after all, were worthless; all that mattered was what you did or didn’t do). Tsuna had always admitted he could be selfish, and if Hibari would say that this was selfish, then fine, but the truth was that, in that moment and for a time afterwards, Tsuna had simply lost himself.

To become oblivious with grief.

As much as Tsuna had believed he empathized with Enma, for the first time, he felt as though he could fully share in the sensation of the pain of heartbreak. Enma -- Enma had actually lost his sister when he was a child. She would never return. He had seen his allies taken away one by one. How did you _live_ with that? How did you overcome it?

Of course, for many years, Tsuna had, on and off, suffered the pain of seeing his comrades risk their lives and suffer various injuries. For a loving person, this was the worst kind of torment. But… Kyoko had deliberately chosen not to be involved in that world.

And Kikuko was _their_ responsibility.

This was personal.

***

Wheels turned.

Tsuna went first to Reborn, to his apartment in Namimori. Reborn moved constantly, leaving a trail of broken leases and fake names, but Tsuna could always locate him.

His former tutor, at first, was silent. They both knew why Tsuna had come.

“Tonight,” Tsuna began, “I’m going to bring them together again. My friends. The Foundation. Kokuyo. Varia. Millefiore. Shimon. Cavallone. CEDEF and the Arcobaleno. Anyone who will attend my summons. And then -- then I’m going to quit.”

He shrugged his suit jacket off and tugged loose his tie. It was a warm evening, and after that flight, he felt dizzy and hot and not at all right. He couldn’t look at his and Reborn’s bodies shading into silhouettes in the reflection of the glass doors without remembering a glimpse of Kyoko’s profile as she would stand at the window every night, holding the baby in her arms, with the last rays of the dying sunlight catching brightly on her hair.

“Iemitsu told me what happened.” Reborn stood with his arms folded, expression severe. “Are you really still so ignorant, Tsuna?”

“I never wanted any of this,” Tsuna continued, frantic now. “I hate the mafia. I don’t consider myself -- I don’t think of myself as -- but, always, my friends were in danger, and…”

“And you used Vongola and its resources as an apparatus towards protecting your loved ones. I’m well aware. Giotto would have approved.”

Standing in the dark room, Reborn surveyed Tsuna as he waited on the balcony. 

His face was soft. Still so young. Too young to have his share of dead comrades. Unlike Iemitsu, Lal… or Reborn himself.

Reborn uncrossed his arms. His body language seemed to relax its seriousness, if only in increments. “Tsuna, you aren’t my student any longer. My old friend, the Ninth, who ordered me to locate you to begin with, is dead now. I have no further obligations to you, and you have none to me. Furthermore, you’re an adult.”

“I know,” Tsuna said softly.

And it wasn’t as though he’d come here seeking solace. If that were the case, Tsuna would have gone first to Yamamoto and Gokudera. Tsuna wasn’t even seeking advice, per se -- he was too stubborn for that.

More like, he wanted to vent -- to run everything by Reborn: the trauma of the day’s events and then his own ideas and plans. If there was anything illogical, wrong, or just backwards in what Tsuna was saying or feeling or thinking or doing -- or even anything Reborn simply perceived as being so -- then Tsuna knew his old mentor would tell him. No holds barred. But he also expected a sort of fight. A war of wills. Tsuna had come here steeling himself for that.

“I want to hear your opinion, though. Regardless of… of what I decide.”

“My opinion? You have your friends. Your Guardians. And so does your wife. Kyoko being by herself in the first place was, if anything, a fluke.” 

Reborn pulled out a chair and sat down. 

“A fluke someone who hates us anticipated and planned for, though,” Tsuna added, not missing a beat.

“Tsuna, I understand that security is a difficult matter. I don’t want Kyoko and your daughter living as though they’re in a jail, under 24/7 surveillance. I know you don’t want that, either.”

“Exactly,” Tsuna said, taking a deep breath.

“My point is that I don’t think it will come to that. I think the security is already there.”

“But I can’t take those kinds of chances anymore. I have a responsibility to Kyoko, as her husband. Moreover, we _both_ have a responsibility to Kikuko. That’s the thing! I’m her father! My life is not just my own . . . "

Reborn arched an eyebrow at that.

“And you think no one will target you or your family if you make a speech saying you’re leaving Vongola?”

There was the rub: the checkmate, if there was one. This was the part Reborn liked to remind Tsuna of and the part Tsuna himself tended to try to avoid thinking about.

_You weren’t Vongola X when Mukuro left a trail of maimed bodies along his path to finding you. You weren’t Vongola X when the tournament for the rings began, and you and all your friends would have been killed if you had chosen not to participate. You still don’t like calling yourself that, now, do you?_

“Essentially,” Reborn continued, “I see no reason to believe that abdicating your title would result in you and your family being left in peace. Were I still a betting man, I’d lay my odds on the opposite happening. Even if your enemies accepted your resignation rather than seeing it as an opportunity to eliminate you and your allies… which I find unlikely on the face of it… there’s still the matter of your daughter. She’s an unknown factor. Sky types are rare, and so long as she lives, there’s a risk of another battle for inheritance. Pragmatically speaking -- “

Reborn’s voice sounded farther away. Colder and more distant. This was the Reborn from that old world -- the world Tsuna had removed him from, the one Tsuna didn’t like remembering or knowing of.

 _Pragmatically speaking,_ in translation: _by my assassin’s instincts, I would argue…_

“You won’t want to hear this, Tsuna, but for any boss looking to secure succession, it wouldn’t make sense _not_ to target Kikuko.”

Reborn was right. Tsuna didn’t want to hear that. He felt like pulling an Enma and destroying everything in sight.

Whatever powers or energies were within his body, whatever transmuted his brain waves, heart, and blood into the steady glow of Dying Will flames -- sometimes a cold burn like liquid nitrogen, when freezing objects or people, and sometimes a flame hot enough to scorch iron and metal -- whatever those particles or waves were, they were peaking now.

Tsuna understood how a person could destroy an entire region. 

Maybe he had come down too soon from on high.

“Vongola blood is a _curse._ “

Despairing, not for the first time.

“In the situation you face today, no doubt it does feel that way.” 

Reborn rose. 

“A curse. But also your special gift and inheritance. And not just yours -- but your daughter’s. The next generation’s.”

They stood, one facing the other.

“I’ll summon everyone,” Tsuna said.


	4. Chapter 4

_A Target of the Past: Part ii._

Wheels turned.

Hibari and Yamamoto returned to the crime scene. Jirou sniffed for gunpowder, flames, Box Weapon signatures.

Gokudera locked himself inside of Tsuna’s house and tirelessly began analyzing the bullets which Hibari confiscated from law enforcement.

Ryohei, along with Hana, Haru, and I-pin stayed with Kyoko and the baby. Tsuyoshi supplied sushi so that people wouldn’t get too sick of eating hospital food. Lambo went with Gokudera as back-up and extra security, much as Gokudera grumbled about the fact.

Tsuna alerted them as to the inevitability of a meeting, but he didn’t return to them. Not just yet.

Yamamoto and Gokudera would embrace him. Yamamoto would say comforting words. Gokudera would worry and stress and speak of threats to those responsible. Tsuna couldn’t give himself over to either comfort or anxiety just now. 

Difficult as it was, he had to be focused.

***

Here was the new Vongola Base in Japan: underground, designed by the combined efforts of Spanner and Giannini, with Shouichi’s input. Hundreds of Moscas. Perhaps a thousand Box Weapons. Doors which opened at the imprint of not only specific flames, but specific users. And traps -- yes, there were those, just as in the old Melone Base. Shouichi had insisted. Traps, training rooms, and a transport system, but the sheer amount of flames required for the latter ensured that it was used mostly for emergencies.

Tsuna entered the base and stood in the middle of its round, theater-like meeting room.

One by one, two by two, and in groups, the others began to arrive.

Dino and the Cavallone family. Enma and Shimon. The Guardians, save for the Mists. Iemitsu, Basil, Lal Mirch. Reborn. And there -- there was Fuuta, entering the room alongside Bianchi.

And in a burst of motion, Fuuta was yelling “Tsuna-nii!” and rushing forward, smiling at the reunion even as tears filled his eyes.

“Fuuta,” Tsuna said quietly. He held out his arms. “Thank you -- thank you for bringing it.”

“Of course.” Fuuta crashed against Tsuna, hugging him as though they were still children. In front of everyone, now. “You only had to ask. You know that. Anything for you and Kikuko.”

Fuuta, like Lambo, had taken a special liking to the baby.

Though relations were somewhat confusing and jumbled, she was a bit like a niece, or -- even more -- a little sister in the making to them, and Fuuta was greatly looking forward to a time when she would be old enough to play with and take places. Someday, someday, he would rank the number one dessert shop to bring Kikuko to.

“Shishishi. Look at this touching scene.”

Tsuna looked up as Fuuta reluctantly took a step away.

There, in the doorway -- no mistaking those outfits, faces, and presences. Varia, of course. Mammon and Belphegor in front, Levi, Lussuria, and Squalo in the second row, and Fran off to the side, looking typically unengaged. That left . . .

“A regular hugfest,” Belphegor continued. “Did that guy ask us to come here so we could talk about feelings and cry on each other’s shoulders?”

“I’m losing time and money by being here,” Mammon put in.

“Brats!” Squalo yelled. “Why don’t you just tell us who you want dead?”

“They seem like they’ve been pretty bored lately,” Yamamoto said amicably, quirking an eyebrow.

He was probably correct.

Still, Tsuna could read the contempt on their faces, and he knew what they were thinking: here was the man who had defeated Xanxus and who had ascended to the title of Vongola X, even against his own wishes. 

In their eyes, Tsuna would never be deserving. But that was all right. He rather relished that.

“I appreciate that you came,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “Where is Xanxus?”

“To ask, just like that!” he heard Levi say to Lussuria, as the others shuffled in indignation.

Squalo raised a fist. “VOI! What’s your game, Sawada? You know our boss hates the sight of you!”

“That’s why I’m confident that he came,” Tsuna answered.

His Vongola intuition was telling him this, after all.

“That’s right, you trash.”

That voice came from behind the others, who parted grudgingly.

Xanxus could now be seen standing behind them. He had aged, Tsuna thought. Of course, they all had, but Xanxus’s old ferocious glare which had so terrified Tsuna during his youth had become more subdued, more like a force of habit. The old angry laughter and the vicious smiles had gradually evaporated. 

Resignation, Tsuna decided, was truly a force which could take pretty much anyone.

“I came to see the downfall of the scum who holds the title which oughtta be mine,” Xanxus continued. “And look at how upset you are, you trash! Over -- what? A woman and a brat?”

Tsuna had expected this, and that expectation gave him sufficient self-control so as not to lose his temper at the insult. Besides, Gokudera lost it on behalf of him, but before the matter could escalate, Tsuna raised a hand before his Guardians, signalling them to stand down, and said (facing Xanxus):

“If you think that makes me unfit for my responsibilities or the title of -- “ Tsuna hesitated. Reborn was right. He still didn’t like saying it. “The title the Ninth bestowed on me, then for once, Xanxus, I’m inclined to agree with you. That’s why I’m leaving Vongola.”

Tsuna let the words drop into the tense atmosphere. At his sides, his fists were clenched.

The reaction was predictable. Reborn looked away. Yamamoto continued smiling, but with a strained look to his eyes. Hibari was expressionless, as dispassionate as always. Lambo, who had only ever viewed Tsuna as an older brother, didn’t particularly react at all. 

Every member of Varia appeared surprised, initially, but then Tsuna saw the wry pleasure suffusing their expressions: bittersweet victory and vindication at long last.

Gokudera -- of course, Gokudera was the one to react.

“Tenth… what are you saying?”

Beside Tsuna, Gokudera looked very serious, very far from how hotheaded and eager-to-please he could be under better circumstances.

“Nothing more or less than what I’ve always said, Gokudera.”

Tsuna sighed.

This was the truth, wasn’t it? From the very beginning, he had communicated to Reborn how much he didn’t want this. And he’d indicated the same to Gokudera, Yamamoto, Ryohei -- to everyone, but here he was, all the same. Dragged along by their enthusiasm. Dragged along by destiny, or danger, or one precarious situation after another which they’d somehow ended up in.

It would be easy to blame Reborn. Without Reborn, Tsuna could have lived an average life with Kyoko. But Tsuna couldn’t blame him -- he was Reborn, after all, and their bond didn’t make room for blame. And besides, not only would Kyoko not have looked twice at him without Reborn’s influence, but Tsuna wouldn’t have any of these other precious comrades, either.

“I never wanted to be in this role. I’m not meant for this kind of responsibility. When Kyoko and I got married, I worried it was too dangerous for her -- bringing her near… this. This world. But I was selfish. I thought I could continue to live as I did before, even after… even after our child was born.”

“Ah.” That was Yamamoto. Gently, he said, “I can see why you’d feel that way, Tsuna. If you change your mind, of course, we’ll always wait for you.”

“But Tenth, what will happen to -- I mean, what will we _do_?”

“Ideally, I’d like to turn over control to you and Yamamoto.”

Tsuna knew that Gokudera had no ambitions towards leadership and instead had an apparent preference for being the kind of person who assists a boss, but he was a genius, and with Yamamoto at his side, they should be fine. Besides, Reborn would still be in the periphery, and the organization had outside advisors who could be called on, as well as allied families.

“And if you don’t want it, then Hibari. Or Hibari could work with you. Or all of you could share responsibility.”

“You don’t really sound like you’ve thought this through, Tsuna,” Iemitsu interjected.

 _Thought it through?_ How could a person think in this condition?

Tsuna turned a bitter gaze towards his father. If he didn’t go forward with what he had planned to do tonight -- if he didn’t leave -- then this would be his future, wouldn’t it be? The embarrassing, good-for-nothing father who was always gone and always hiding things from his family when he was around. He had told himself he would never lie to Kyoko, even by omission -- never again. But who knew what new trials the future would bring?

Think it through. As if.

“What I have thought about is the fact that you all can handle the business by yourselves now. You needed my help when we were kids, but after all the trials and training we’ve been through … things are different.”

And if Tsuna were to be blunt, what he would also say is: I wash my hands of this. Whatever happens next, I trust you guys to solve it. He couldn’t get dragged in this time. He just couldn’t. His Guardians were more than enough on their own. They would be fine.

“Sawada.”

Unexpectedly, this time, it was Lal Mirch who addressed him. She looked almost exactly as she had when Tsuna first met her, and every bit as determined, only now the scars had been removed due to the lifting of the curse.

“You really aren’t thinking.”

She raised an arm to adjust her goggles.

“I understand your pain as well as anyone here. I remember what it was like to live through ten years of regrets for failing to save the person whose feelings gave me courage. I’ve chased the Camorra directly. I know what they’re capable of. If this fills my nightmares, then I know it will haunt you, too. But -- “

Lal turned aside, not meeting Tsuna’s eyes directly.

“-- the solution is to fight for a better world for your daughter to grow up in. Not to leave it to someone else to do so. You have the power. I know Reborn, so I know he must have told you that.”

“She’s right, Tsuna.”

And now, Enma: fully matured into the nearly exact image of Shimon Cozart.

“Like you, I’m also a parent. I thought about retiring with my child to the island, like our ancestors in Shimon did. And I know that a long time ago, I suggested you run away from the mafia, if you had so many problems.”

Enma raised a clenched fist, with the ring of his Earth element glowing on his finger.

“Here and now, though, you need to eliminate this threat.”

“And we’re here to help, Tenth,” Gokudera added, all confidence.

Unbelievable, Tsuna thought. 

Well, no, not unbelievable -- very believable, but still: astonishing. Just like… just like every other time. It was as though they hadn’t even heard him. Plans were already rising up around Tsuna -- really, in spite of him. Like he was some force of gravity, unable to repel that which he attracted.

Reluctantly and quietly, with none of his earlier desperation, Tsuna said, “Just this one time, I agree that we must do that. Before I quit fully, I mean. That’s the other reason I brought you all here.”

Tsuna hated to even concede this much, since he already had a great idea of how this tended to go: one mission becomes two becomes five becomes ten becomes fifty, and that’s how you get roped into exactly the situations you’d rather not be in. If he agreed to this one final mission, he was already setting himself up for sliding right down the slippery slope into many more.

On the other hand, he couldn’t let someone harm Kyoko and Kikuko and get away with it. This was unforgivable, and he would punish them himself.

“I have a score to settle.” And this was the one they called Vongola X: the one who spoke in this tone. “Now, Fuuta--”

“Yes, Tsuna-nii, about that!”

Fuuta whipped out a sheaf of papers.

“The ranking planet tells me that the #1 family most likely to attack the Vongola is the Lagorio.”

“Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean they were the culprits,” Bianchi added. “Hayato?”

“Yes, Gokudera,” Tsuna said. He gently faced the man beside him -- the man who had awaited this moment with confident poise and purpose.

“Pistole Parabellum 1908.” Gokudera was in his element now, as he explained his findings: “That is, a Luger pistol. Specifically, a 1999 refurbished version. That’s your weapon.”

He’d spent hours researching this, as they all knew. Hours of nicotine and coffee. Vaguely dark circles beneath his eyes. And yet, Gokudera -- forever tireless.

“That gun?” Reborn looked thoughtful. “It’s an infamous one.”

“Hey! Associations with Nazi Germany!” Colonnello added, visibly disgusted.

“Exactly,” Gokudera went on. “I asked myself why the enemy would use a relatively rare and notorious pistol -- a collector’s item, if you think about it. Whichever way I look at it, my instincts tell me they’re definitely taunting us, Tenth.”

“Wouldn’t a submachine gun have been more dangerous for the whole mafia thing?”

Yamamoto was making one of Those Faces again.

“That’s what I mean, dumbass.” It just rolled off Gokudera’s tongue, of course, but more likely, as Tsuna knew, Yamamoto was prompting -- helping set the way for Gokudera’s explanation: “The enemy could’ve used something like that. This was meant to be a warning. I’m sure of it.”

“Reborn?” Tsuna prompted.

“The reasoning is obvious, Tsuna. Had your enemy killed Kyoko and the baby, you would have gone wild with grief.”

Wilder than he’d gone, the implication went.

“So they were thinking Sawada might do something too drastic?” Lal asked.

“That, I think, was a part of the rationale for leaving Kyoko alive. But I suspect another consideration was that Tsuna would be driven to focus on his family above business. In other words, he would want to quit Vongola due to the risk of another attack.”

Or maybe he would be too distracted with Kyoko’s well-being to mount a thorough-going response. Either way, it amounted to the same.

For Varia, that prompted the predictable reaction. Belphegor snickered about how Tsuna had played right into enemy hands. Squalo yelled criticisms.

Xanxus, face severe, pushed them both aside.

“Destroy them all,” he said, rasping the words. “Otherwise, you’re trash, and a coward.”

Tsuna pointedly ignored that.

“We aren’t even certain that we know who carried out this attack.”

Tsuna surveyed the different faces that looked back at him throughout the room. Some mocking, scoffing -- as always, while others were tense, expectant, and hopeful -- loyal, proud, mature, devoted. His Guardians, his friends, allies, the Arcobaleno, even former enemies --

“So that is what we have to figure out. Fuuta gave us a lead. The Lagorio family is ranked number one most likely to attack Vongola. That means we have to go directly to the source. We have to gather information.”

“Interrogation, then,” Reborn said.

Tsuna would have ignored _that_ , too, had someone else volunteered the idea.

“No -- not like you guys are thinking.”

 _No torture,_ Tsuna said. Definitive on this point.

No murdering, though killing in self-defense if a battle occurred would be acceptable. But that went without saying.

“What about roughing the enemies up if they don’t cooperate, Tenth?” Gokudera glanced at Yamamoto with a glint in his eye. Yamamoto smiled back amiably.

Tsuna fought the urge to bury his face in his hands, because really, this was an intensely serious situation, but he could already see where these guys were headed.

“I trust your judgment, Gokudera.”

He had to, honestly. He had to trust his friends because -- what alternative was there? Tsuna couldn’t keep watch over everyone to ensure that they would behave themselves.

And besides, despite his sometimes-violent ideas, Gokudera was a much kinder person than he’d ever wanted himself to be. Moreover, Yamamoto would be nearby.

“It’s an honor, Tenth. There’s a point I want to bring to your attention, though.”

“Is it about the difficulty of figuring out who works for whom in the southern Italian families?” Tsuna guessed.

“You anticipated me exactly, as expected of you.”

Standing beside Tsuna in the room’s center, Gokudera gave the barest of smiles, which Tsuna returned without hesitation. All the old anxieties between them had long ago melted away.

“I understand and appreciate your concern.” And, truthfully, this was something Tsuna had been thinking about as well. “We have no choice but to use our network and the resources at our disposal to locate at least some clan members… and then we can go from there.”

That, of course, was the part where people tended to get violent. The Guardians were trustworthy in practice, sure, but Varia? Or even Shimon? Still, Tsuna figured -- he couldn’t keep his eyes on absolutely everyone. He just couldn’t. He would just have to hope that no one in his circle of affiliates would do anything too terrible.

Then, a sudden, gentle-but-urgent voice, an interruption:

“Excuse me, Boss!”

There was no mistaking the speaker.

“Finally,” Gokudera said. “It took you long enough.”

“So your Guardians are all gathered again at last, Tsuna.”

That was Reborn.

And they were right -- because there she was, the Guardian of Mist, entering the room with her usual halting gait. Chrome’s single eye fixed purposefully on the gathering of her colleagues, almost eye level with her boss. But, with a jolt of feverish surprise, Tsuna noticed that Chrome was not alone. Rather, she walked alongside Kyoko, who leaned hard against her, moving slowly, one arm loosely draping Chrome’s shoulder for support.

“Kyoko.” 

Tsuna exhaled.

Kyoko knew about the Vongola Base. Of course, she’d known for years. Reborn had even suggested recruiting Kyoko into a diplomatic position, given her gentleness and patience. But Kyoko had never been interested in any pursuits related to the Family, and Tsuna, for his part, was thankful for that. Kyoko was one side of his life. This was the other. And never had the two met. 

Until now.

Chrome waved her hand and a chair appeared before them. Kyoko took a seat, closing her eyes and slumping heavily -- still protecting her injuries. Still looking so tired. Yet she smiled.

“Boss,” Chrome said, clutching her hands to her chest. “I will protect Sawada Kyoko.”

As Chrome saw it -- as she later explained, but as Tsuna himself could infer -- this was the oldest of all debts, though Kyoko would never think of it in those terms: for Kyoko, who had given Chrome the place to stay during the moments of her despair. She would be her bodyguard, unquestionably.

“Tsu-kun.” Kyoko opened her eyes. She gazed around the room -- from one face to another. “I hope I didn’t interrupt. And I hope you all weren’t too worried about me.”

***

_Those numbing moments of your nearness._

Reborn and Hibari shuffled Varia out of the room, temporarily, with no shortage of aggression. 

Squalo would regard the scene with laughing eyes, but with less venom than the others; Belphegor, one could hear snickering upon departure, while Mammon was silent in cold contempt, and Xanxus? Vindication. Wrath, and vindication. But Tsuna would address this later -- if he addressed it at all.

One by one, two by two, and in groups, the others exited, until there were only five: Tsuna, Kyoko, Chrome, Gokudera, Yamamoto.

Even Ryohei was persuaded to give them some alone time, though he was predictably loud upon taking his leave.

Kyoko pressed her lips together. She looked to Gokudera and Yamamoto, who regarded her with soft concern. She looked to Chrome, worried but ever-determined. She looked to Tsuna, who abandoned the standing position at the room’s center and sat across from her, clutching her hands -- his thumb running lightly over the golden band which signified their bond, just as other rings had marked other bonds, other loyalties -- they were, all of them, tied to a greater fate.

“Do you remember -- “ Kyoko cleared her throat -- “when I said I was glad you didn’t become something scary?”

“I’m sorry,” Tsuna said. “I should’ve come to you first. I just -- “

“Don’t quit, Tsu-kun. Don’t leave them.”

Tsuna hesitated. Was she really saying what she seemed to be?

But, as though reading his mind, Kyoko added determinedly, “Don’t quit your job. Helping people. Not for my sake. Please.”

When you thought about it, the whole thing was monumentally absurd: in name, Tsuna was the leader of a criminal organization. In practice, he continued to deny this fact, even though he was profiting and supporting his family from Vongola activities in Italy and Japan. And he did everything he could to ensure that those activities were as legal as possible, making this more of an entrepreneurial company -- hell, even a charity for the people of the slums -- rather than a crime ring. But that fact only highlighted the bizarreness of the position itself: _mafia boss_. 

And that was how the others saw him. No matter what. No getting around this.

Yet, here was Kyoko, who knew everything, and here she called it _helping people_.

“I can do something else to help people,” Tsuna said. “Maybe I can start a non-profit.” 

Well, he didn’t know anything about how to do that, but a person could learn, right?

“Or… I could just get a decent job doing something else. Working at an office, maybe.”

Working as a salaryman in Tokyo, perhaps. Clocking long hours. That would be stressful, sure, but not dangerous. Kyoko and Kikuko would be provided for.

Written across Kyoko’s face was a strange, loving skepticism.

“You’ve always loved Reborn. And… “ Her eyes met Yamamoto’s. Gokudera’s. Almost apologetically. “You love each other. Unconditionally. You won’t be happy if you leave them, Tsu-kun. You just won’t be. So, you shouldn’t. And especially… not because you worry about me.”

“Kikuko, though,” Tsuna said.

Self-explanatory.

“I remember the day she was born.” Kyoko smiled dreamily. “Holding her… she was so warm, and… she had your eyes.”

She glanced at Chrome, whose expression was strained, mouth a tight line.

Then, turning to Tsuna again, she added, “Please, at least give it time. Think about what I’ve said. Think about your friends who have followed you so far. Kikuko … she and I will be all right.”

“How can you say that after everything that’s happened? Even now … “

Even now that she sat before him, wounds healing.

“Because we have our friends’ protection. Tsu-kun, I want her to grow up knowing all of our friends. I want that support network. Do you remember the fireworks?”

“Of course. We sat together, and …”

It was like the first time. All of them, sitting with one another.

And this Kyoko -- whom Tsuna met when he himself was still a teenager, and in the middle of violence, she had looked at him with unflappable calm. As she looked now, with large eyes and a mouth slightly parted. 

Waves of hair and shine on her lips.

“I worried that when we got older, life would separate us all,” Kyoko interjected. “We would graduate and that would be the end. But Tsu-kun, because our friends work with you to help people, we’re all still together. We’re still best friends.”

Never did Tsuna believe he would be here, with Kyoko insisting that he remain as Vongola’s leader -- not when, for a decade and more, he had seen this as antithetical to their life together, and the heaviest of all obstacles.

But was the situation Kyoko presented really an either/or? Why couldn’t he work a mundane office job and still spend time with the others? 

They were his friends and would be there for him no matter what. Though it was true that they wouldn’t be working together… that there would be parts of their lives he might no longer be privy to… you couldn’t really compare anything else to sharing the same missions, being on the front lines together…

“But I can’t stand for you to be a target. And even if you can tolerate that, Kyoko, it’s not just about us.”

“Yes. We must think of our daughter. I understand.”

She sighed sweetly and reached forward, pressing light, dancing fingertips to Tsuna’s face.

“I always knew you were no ordinary person. Well, Tsu-kun, I can’t tell you what to do. You know your life and how you must lead it, and we will be there for you regardless. Kikuko and I, as long as we live.”

What an ominous framing that could be, given the circumstances.

But Tsuna smiled. The warmth came to his cheeks as it always did.

“I just came to tell you that, no matter what happens to us, Tsu-kun, you mustn’t become a frightening person. I wanted to look in your eyes… and see. But I should’ve just had faith. I’m sorry. It’s just…” 

She glanced away briefly, guiltily. 

“I just worried. When we were hurt. I worried you might… become scary… and no matter what happens, even if I were to die… you can’t.”

“You don’t have to apologize for your concerns, Kyoko, and you don’t have to worry. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing. But you’ve done a lot to protect me, and all of us. You should stay with Chrome and Big Brother and rest now.”

Tears filled her eyes. Kyoko reached into her purse -- slowly, careful not to exacerbate her injuries -- and produced the good luck charm she had made for Tsuna many years before.

“I was thinking of giving this to Kikuko,” she said. “We could put it on the door of her room. It’ll be her turn, soon. Don’t you think?”

Tsuna reached out, holding Kyoko’s hands, and clasped them closed around the charm.

Yes, he agreed. Yes, it would be.

***

Trust that the person you love will do the right thing. Kyoko chose to do just that.

I protect her, Tsuna thought. She protects me.

Damning possibilities. A world in which a man could become like Daemon Spade, driven to hatred and madness by the death of a beloved person. How Tsuna could already hear the tone of Xanxus’s contempt for what he would call his weakness, his mercy. How Varia would again deem him unworthy. And whatever this would mean for Kikuko, for their future, and for the balance which Tsuna had tried to create. A world in which he had said himself he would destroy this mafia. 

Perhaps it would make sense to no one. It didn’t even make sense to him, who was at the center.

Kyoko left. Tsuna, Yamamoto, Gokudera, Chrome -- following one by one, until they were standing outside, where the twilight of morning had slowly begun to appear.

“Boss, I’m going with Kyoko,” Chrome said, “but first, I -- this -- “

She reached within her suit jacket and pulled out a manila folder.

Chrome was making a face.

Chrome made faces like that, generally, when she felt the pressure of trying to communicate a number of different ideas at once, or so it seemed to the others as outsiders.

Gokudera intercepted Chrome’s offering and leafed through it quickly. Yamamoto leaned over his shoulder and read along.

“Unbelievable,” Gokudera said. “This is -- “

“Wow.” Yamamoto whistled. “That’s pretty extensive, huh?”

Later, Tsuna would see that what Chrome had procured was information on the entire Lagorio clan: the coordinates of each member’s or affiliate’s house, apartment, and GPS tracking -- the weapons they used, their purchases and sales, their flame types, the alliances which had been witnessed and each monetary transaction with other groups.

“Celestino Lagorio bought it. I mean -- that gun,” Chrome said.

“How did you find all of this, Chrome?” Gokudera was looking at her in astonishment -- even something like jealousy, that after all of his hard work that night, she had nevertheless produced so much _more_ information. “Wait… was it… don’t tell me…”

“Mukuro’s pretty great, isn’t he?” Yamamoto slapped Chrome on the back.

She stared blankly at him.

“I collected this,” Chrome said simply. “It was in the past. But -- he -- we -- “

She shook her head.

She didn’t have to explain, though. Tsuna knew. Mukuro could play the long game.

“Thank you, Chrome,” Tsuna said. “And thank you for everything. For Kyoko.”

Chrome nodded and turned, disappearing like a shadow into the morning.

***

Gokudera and Yamamoto would both wonder aloud -- in their varying tones (Gokudera would speak of it like an accusation, whereas Yamamoto would express admiration) -- whether Mukuro had asked Chrome to do this digging on the clans, and whether she’d come to them that night/morning with this extensive research of her own volition, or whether Mukuro had sent her to make such a delivery.

Tsuna wouldn’t wonder. Not really. It was a distinction without a difference. He would accept his Mist Guardians as they were.

The point was that this saved him -- them -- the trouble of figuring out how to conduct an investigation in Italy. And that was a sweet relief, considering that Tsuna had known how out of control such an operation could become.

Varia was disappointed. They grumbled and complained. Even Shimon seemed disappointed.

Iemitsu and Lal were shocked that anyone could be so thorough, so clandestine, so able to infiltrate. Hibari merely smiled his thin smile. Knowing.

***

And here is the result:

In Italy, Gokudera led the charge against Celestino Lagorio’s residence -- bombs versus gunfire, flames versus flames. On the plane and in person, Tsuna had dreamed of all the ways this could go wrong. Gokudera never aimed to kill. He aimed to destroy the walls of the building, to bring the security of the structure down. But it was flashy, and in this part of the world, that was dangerous.

Afterwards, Yamamoto brought the rain. Incapacitated, citizen-mafiosi fell into drowsy slumber.

“The roof will collapse,” Hibari said.

Gokudera had created the hole at its top. Rafters were falling in. And now rain.

With a touch of his ring, Hibari stepped into the house -- and once the others were behind him, the needle sphere expanded, until they were -- friends and enemies alike -- within this other world.

“Don’t crowd against me.”

Tsuna looked at the bodies. The tranquility attribute was a good one -- rendering unconscious without violence.

“Che,” Gokudera muttered, “where is that guy, anyway?”

They would find him within the bedroom, standing before a mirror: an older man, perhaps in his forties, bespectacled, a quiet speaker, and with something of a limp -- carrying a cane, in fact, engraved with C. Lagorio.

His first words: “You can kill me, but this territory -- and then you -- will long for the days of my care, if you do.”

Tsuna raised a hand to halt the others before anyone could lunge forward.

“You,” he said -- not stiff, not shaking, not halting, not like he’d thought: he’d rehearsed a million times within his head: “You tried to kill my wife and daughter.”

“There would have been no _trying_ , had this been our goal. They would be dead.”

The hot flash of anger threatened to paralyze, but remembering Kyoko’s words, Tsuna remained calm. Deadly calm.

“Why?”

He wanted -- needed -- to know. He _had_ to know the answer to this.

Celestino Lagorio was unruffled. As if he thought Tsuna were bluffing: but then, that was it, wasn’t it? Everyone knew the Vongola Boss was no ruthless killer -- everyone knew.

“Profit loss from your organization having taken too much industry in our region, for one thing, but more than that, one of your independent assassination group killed several of my men, including my cousin.” He turned. “Wouldn’t you retaliate if someone did that?”

Tsuna got the message.

“Who? Which one of them did that? Whoever it was, tell me, and I’ll deal with them. I’ll --” He was sweating. That same dizzying rush. “Any Varia who acts so rash, I’ll… I’ll fight them myself. But you -- what would it take to get you to dismantle this empire of yours?”

“Tenth,” Gokudera whispered, stunned.

He was looking at Tsuna with his usual awe, but also something else.

No one but Tsuna would be so bold or so straightforward. Hibari appeared cynical. Yamamoto -- Yamamoto was smiling, but more ambiguous on this point. He stood strong like a bodyguard, sword drawn … just in case.

“You can kill me,” Celestino replied -- still indifferent to the possibility, still disbelieving, “but others will come, and they will be worse. The Italian state fails the people. And the people of this district need me. The jobs here… I created them. The System provides protection, livelihoods, housing. Kill me, and fighting will break out. There will be a clan war. The blood will be on your hands. I have been the keeper of the peace.”

“Enough of this,” said Hibari, producing his handcuffs. “We are now the keepers of the peace.”

Tsuna did not move to stop him.

***

_You can’t trust in the judges in this part of the world, Kyouya,_ Dino would later say. _They’ve all been bribed, or will be bribed._

Hibari informed him that they had at their disposal something more powerful than bribing, something more guaranteed to assure a guilty verdict and a strict sentencing. 

Tsuna had a feeling he knew to what the man alluded. And though it unsettled him to consider a judge who would awaken in the middle of the night, not knowing where he was or what had happened during the last few days -- what was the alternative? 

Such a dirty game, but the best they could do was to try to act without violence.

Celestino smiled as he was apprehended by the citizen-arrest -- the juggernaut that was Hibari’s power of will, and he smiled during the trial, even at the guilty verdict (for a number of crimes, all documented through the papers Chrome had provided) and the sentencing. 

He smiled like someone who believed there would be a later hearing -- an appeal, or parole, or a plea bargain, it would only be a matter of time -- and/or like someone who believed every word of what he said about Italy’s future.

The future would be made of fire.

***

That man had a wife and a son. Tsuna ordered them put under Vongola protection. The son, ten years old, was enrolled into the after-school program Dino had begun for at-risk youth.

“At all costs,” he told Dino, “we have to break the cycle of violence and retaliation.”

“You’ve really grown up, little brother of mine.” 

Dino just laughed -- but there was seriousness in his eyes. Tsuna saw it much more clearly now than he ever had before.

“But what about when these kids’ fathers get out of prison? That’s what I wonder.”

“I don’t know,” Tsuna admitted. “What do you do with people who feel they have no options? I don’t know. Make options, I guess.”

Already, though, with the head of the Lagorio clan removed, a bloody battle for succession had begun. Already, and true to the man’s words, the situation was collapsing. 

So we’ll go back, Tsuna said.

So much for quitting.

***

There is one more part to this story, and it is this:

Five years later, when Celestino Lagorio and fifteen other mafia bosses were rumoured to be up for parole hearings in the near future (hearings, it was widely believed, which would see their freedom, hearings where people believed they might even turn confessors in exchange for freedom), an unexpected calamity happened, one which Tsuna only heard about.

Gokudera was lighting a cigarette nervously when Tsuna approached him.

“Tenth.” He flicked his thumb against the lighter. “You won’t want to hear this.”

Even Reborn’s expression was unusually severe and stressed.

“All sixteen Camorristi were murdered in their cells.”

***

It would be said that only Sawada Tsunayoshi could go from someone trying to kill his family to him taking them under his personal protection (or, at least, seeing their fate as his responsibility).

This affront to the natural justice system would not go unpunished, Tsuna swore, and tried not to think of children without fathers, and what may come of it.

Varia had gone to participate in wars throughout the world.

Gokudera said, at some point, “Tenth, whatever happens, I’ll take care of the Eleventh. If you need to go to Italy…” His face crumpled in sadness and love. “Or anywhere else, any time, don’t worry about leaving me. I see that the most important thing is that she grows up safely.”

***

Young girls ran throughout the playground.

Kyoko and Haru sat on the bench, talking rapidly and smiling.

“Crowding,” Hibari said, not unkindly. He stood at a distance, in the alley. 

He could turn the corner and see the children, but from where he stood, they and the women would be unlikely to see him.

Five girls, altogether. Strange. Certainly a male herbivore would be birthed at some point. 

Sasagawa and his wife seemed the likeliest candidates, as things stood.

“Unappreciative creatures, aren’t they?”

Hibari fingered his box.

“Did you do it?” He inclined his head -- a searching look. “Those murders?”

“Tsk.” Mukuro threw his hands up in mock-indignation. “Everyone always seeks to lay blame at my feet.”

Hibari didn’t think so, anyway. Not since he had seen the female Mist, whose face had held a stricken look.

“You had other plans for those Camorristi,” Hibari said. 

It was no question.

“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t tell _you._ ”

“If not you, then who?”

“That’s very mysterious, isn’t it?” 

Mukuro peered outwards at the children, arms crossed.

“How little they recognize the sacrifices of those who came before,” he said idly, returning to his earlier observations.

“Is it possible -- “ Hibari regarded him sternly. “ -- you don’t know?”

“Something utterly against my expectations has happened,” Mukuro admitted. “It seems -- we have a new entity to contend with, in whatever manner we choose to do so. Or -- if not us, then -- “

They watched the children run and play.

“Though they aren’t old enough to be useful, at present.”

***

Kikuko, holding the ends of her jump rope, looked up -- looked over at the alley, but she saw no one.

“Come on,” Tsuna said, touching her shoulder. “Ice cream?”

Those words lit up her face. 

“Ice cream!” she yelled, clapping her hands.

Kikuko reached out. 

Tsuna took her hand.

Everything else will wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dilemma of a next gen story: wanting to preserve some elements of the original story's feeling without just blindly copying the original (because what would be the fun in a plain ol' recycle?). suuuuch a difficult line to walk that it makes me pull my hair because auugh. 
> 
> as alluded to throughout this story (and as you probably guessed!), there will be various 11th gen kids, not just Kikuko! though they won't appear all at once, naturally. one kid in this chapter is recycled from a previous verse i wrote in, but this story stands unto itself. (which is a nicer way of saying I kinda-sorta disavow everything I wrote in this fandom previously in the way writers generally do with their old works, lol. :B)

Ｔａｒｇｅｔ  ２：  Ｔｈａｔ Ｇｉｒｌ

[part 1]

 

It was only after the completion of the middle school entrance ceremony, once Kikuko and the other students had entered their classrooms, that she remembered she was still holding the box Auntie Bianchi had given her. On the ride over, she had completely forgotten to open it.  
  
Though, wasn’t there something her father said about Auntie’s cooking having -- issues?

Kikuko was pretty sure her father had warned her that it was no good.

But Bianchi herself always swore that she was misrepresented. So, what was the truth?

Kikuko eyed her box uncertainly.

As her stomach rumbled, she realized that she really had consigned herself to not eating a genuine breakfast, given that she was out of time. Class was about to begin. She would have to wait until lunch.

She looked around.

***

The teacher informed the class that he had forgotten something in the office and would be back momentarily. In the meanwhile, the students were to behave themselves.

All at once, Kikuko felt renewed nervousness.

 _Here I believed I’d put this behind me,_ she thought ruefully, embarrassed. _As long as Dad’s friends were around, I was too caught up with them to be nervous._

But now, Dad’s friends were nowhere in sight.

Only Kikuko and students her own age.

There they all were, standing in groups of two or three or more -- huddling and loosely dangling their bags, chattering away and filling the room with low murmurs. There they all were, talking to one another as though they were close companions -- people who had probably grown up together and played in the same neighborhood.

For the first day only, the students would be allowed to select their own seats. Every day thereafter, seating would be assigned alphabetically.

About four rows across from the left side of the room, there was a wide empty space. One girl sat three seats down, facing her desk, but no one had taken the seats beside, behind, or in front of her.

 _Perfect_ , Kikuko decided.

She shuffled over to an adjacent seat on the left and began placing her belongings under her desk. That included her food, which, unhappily, she realized would be getting cold.

When Kikuko returned her attention to the classroom, she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that several individuals amid the other clusters of students had turned their faces towards her, and they were still talking -- but quietly enough so she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Their expressions, however, were not particularly friendly. More like, suspicious.

 _Oh no_ , she thought, heart beating more quickly. _Have I done something wrong already?_

Worse, what if Reborn or Uncle Gokudera were nearby?

As if expecting to see them looming behind her, Kikuko turned in her seat furiously. Behind, in front, to both sides -- it would be just like those adults to come barging in here while she was trying to have a regular first day of school.

But, though she looked frantically, Kikuko saw no evidence of their presence.

Reborn had mentioned an invisibility suit, but --

 _Oh no,_ she thought again, stricken with a realization: _So, it’s not Reborn or Gokudera. It’s just because of me! They’re making those faces because of me!_

She couldn’t begin her first day like this. She would die from the shame! But what had she done?

***

As Kikuko slumped in her seat and tried to will herself into invisibility, she heard a voice beside her say:

“Hey, you. You there. What are you making all those facial expressions for?”

Kikuko turned and found herself face to face with the girl beside her.

Several thoughts struck her at the same time:

First, what a pretty girl she was.

Even sitting down, you could see she was tall and thin, with dark blue hair -- segments of which were tied with lavender ribbons, in something like an elegant partial top knot, while the rest hung long and loose.

Second, there was something like a feeling of recognition.

 _We’ve met before,_ Kikuko was sure, but perhaps it had been a while.

Third: that girl was smiling, but her expression looked dreamy and distant. She propped her face against the curved palm of her hand, tapping her fingers against her cheek.

Something about those eyes, Kikuko thought. They glinted with -- with something.

“Your face was shifting,” she said again, when Kikuko had failed to answer: “What’s that about?”

“I, uh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was.”

Now, Kikuko was pretty sure she was blushing.

“That isn’t very stealthy of you, you know.” The girl leaned her head against her shoulder and stretched. Kikuko heard -- joints? -- popping. “If that’s a concern of yours at all, you should pay more mind to your face.”

“It’s just. Um. Those --” Kikuko lowered her voice. “Those kids…”

It took all her force of will not to turn her head and see whether they were still giving her strange looks. But this person was correct: that wouldn’t be very discreet, would it?

“Oh, them.” That girl laughed -- soft, distant, unconcerned. “You don’t have to worry about those humans. After all, it’s me they’re looking at like that. You’re just collateral.”

“But -- “

Kikuko began to ask why, then decided against it. This girl had advised her to exercise discretion, and blurting out questions about why everyone was giving someone dirty looks probably didn’t count as such.

Still, her natural and intense curiosity was piqued.

“I’m sorry. Have we met before? It’s just that you -- you look really familiar.”

“Are you from Namimori? We may have played together.” The girl’s eyes brightened. “Say, what is your name? Are you Sawada Kikuko?”

“Wow, you know my name? But, yes! I’m Sawada Kikuko. And who are you?”

“I’m Neuilly. I prefer not to have a last name.”

“Neuilly … “

Difficult name to say, Kikuko decided.

“You didn’t say it like Nerury. That’s good.” Neuilly laughed. “It’s French.”

“Are you French?”

“No.” Neuilly tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m half-Italian, half-Japanese. Or so they tell me.”

She added, enigmatically, “I don’t think of myself in terms like those, you see.”

“Well, we’re all people.” Kikuko smiled warmly, glad to have met -- or become re-acquainted with? -- a friend. “It’s nothing to me.”

Neuilly really did laugh at that -- more loudly than before. “Your jokes are too good, Kikuko.”

Kikuko blinked, uncertain. Had she misunderstood? But Neuilly seemed happy.

“I think I understand why we didn’t remember each other. It’s a sneaky thing to do,” Neuilly continued, as if to herself. She wasn’t looking at Kikuko now, but rather in front of her.

And Kikuko didn’t quite follow.

“It’s sneaky, but I guess they had their reasons. Still, I’m really pleased by this turn of events. I thought for sure today was going to be as boring as usual.”

“I’m glad,” Kikuko said, and warmth suffused her expression -- because she was.

***

Social studies, math, and the Japanese language class passed without incident. Teachers entered the room, introducing themselves and the material.

Beside Kikuko, Neuilly appeared by turns disinterested and unengaged -- aggressively blank and poker-faced -- and by turns caught up in an impish smile.

Though Kikuko had a feeling that she wasn’t smiling because of the course material, but rather because of something occurring in her interior life, she neither judged nor cared.

 _Rather, it’s nice to be around someone my age who’s friendly and likes me,_ Kikuko was thinking, _and especially a girl who’s pretty and cute._

It wasn’t, Kikuko figured, that she was shallow about appearances or anything. It was just that, as every adolescent knew on some instinctive level, prettiness was the currency of status and popularity. It bought you tickets to both. To an anxious, unformed twelve-year old, being accepted by someone with a halo was therefore the biggest of deals.

But, come tomorrow, they would be separated according to surname, wouldn’t they?

Every now and again, Kikuko looked up from writing notes to stare in the direction of the window.

She half-expected to see Gokudera peering back at her with his broad, ridiculous grin. Maybe giving her a thumbs up.

Or, even worse -- Reborn, standing tall and ominous and cocking a gun.

Mercifully, neither appeared.

Kikuko could breathe easily, for now.

***

_I wonder when Dad will be back . . ._

Idle thoughts, when her mind would drift due to the monotonous nature of the first day of classes.

As fourth period science class wrapped up and people began preparing the classroom for lunch, Neuilly stirred.

“Hey, Kikuko,” she began -- almost a whisper. “What’s with you bringing poison to school? Who are you trying to assassinate?”

Kikuko giggled, if a bit uncomfortably. A joke, right?

“Don’t worry,” Neuilly went on, leaning closer. “I won’t judge you or anything. I know all about how your family is. To tell you the truth, I’m really excited.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kikuko said, a little uncertainly.

All at once, reserved emotions from the night before and the morning began to rise to the surface.

She balled her hands into fists beneath her desk. “But everyone keeps talking like there’s something up with my dad and with me. My family acts weird… and I don’t see why. Really… I’m… I’m getting frustrated, you know?”

Neuilly blinked, as if in surprise. Her mouth formed a soft ‘o’, and then her expression shifted again to the habitual smile. She reached beneath the desk, taking hold of Kikuko’s hands and easing them onto the table.

Soon, people were setting out lunch on the tables.

Desks turned towards one another. Students sat in groups. Kikuko gripped her chopsticks and began eating.

“Kikuko.” Neuilly looked across at her. “Do you ever feel like your parents don’t understand you?”

“Kind of,” Kikuko said, in between shoveling rice. “But not just them. _All_ my family. And more like, they don’t make sense to me, either.”

She was hesitant to go into more depth than this. Honestly, how could Kikuko tell anyone about Reborn, or even Gokudera -- or Bianchi, or Haru for that matter?

And Auntie Haru was the _normal_ one. Kind of.

Of course, Kikuko thought, eyeing her new (or newly re-acquainted?) friend -- here was someone claiming to understand the Sawada family, in whatever way it was that Neuilly meant when she said so. Still, privacy was privacy.

Besides, it sounded too crazy to say there was a guy in an invisible suit following Kikuko with a gun. And even if Reborn meant her no harm, that fact only made it more crazy.

“But, I’m sorry, Neuilly-chan. I’m just selfishly talking about myself.”

“You know.” A strange look flashed across Neuilly’s face. “If you want, you can hide out at my house sometime. What do you think?”

“Ah. Ah … “ Kikuko looked down, poking her food.

“Is your face turning red? You really are indiscreet.”

“I -- I think I’d like to -- “

To get away from everyone. Just the thought: what a relief it would be.

 _Such_ a relief.

Maybe she’d really like to run away . . .

“Then it’s decided, Kikuko. You’ll come plot with me.” Neuilly stood up, pushing the desk back. “There’s so much we can accomplish. Just wait until you see.”

When she said those words, the room seemed to shift.

Just then, Kikuko had a strange feeling, as though she were hearing sounds from a long distance away -- sounds stretched out beneath the water, waxing and waning.

 _What’s that?_ she wondered.

Maybe it was just that she was tired and still needed to eat more.

“Excuse me.”  
  
A guy’s voice.

Neuilly’s expression soured.  
  
“Oh no.” She sighed in obvious exasperation. “Here he comes.”  
  
Kikuko turned. Coming towards their shared space was a tall boy with silver hair, not so unlike Uncle Gokudera’s, but softer-looking.

“Greetings, Neuilly-sama,” the boy said, bowing. “And -- ?”

“Sawada Kikuko.”

“Sato Satoshi. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Say . . . “ He placed his hands in his pockets and slouched, tilting his head and looking down at Kikuko. “You look familiar. Did I see you getting out of a car this morning?”

“Uh. Yes,” Kikuko murmured.

“Your family drives you to school?” He laughed, as if to lighten the bluntness of the question. “I’ve never seen anyone in our district do that.”

“Kikuko’s not a common individual. Her situation is unique,” Neuilly said.

Kikuko looked from one to the other. Neuilly stood with her back to the boy, persistently grimacing.

“Ah. Seems like you two know each other.”

Kikuko smiled awkwardly.

“That’s right,” Satoshi said, and he removed his hands from his pockets -- spreading his arms expansively. “You could say we have an exceptional relationship.”

“He talks endlessly about subjects I don’t care about,” Neuilly said.

“I’m training to become Neuilly-sama’s bodyguard, you see,” Satoshi said.

“And I have to save him all the time,” Neuilly added.

 _They’re totally not on the same page!_ Kikuko thought, aghast.

“But, Sawada -- you must be an exceptional person, eh?”

Again, this guy was questioning Kikuko. Only, the more he talked, the more she had a feeling that he wasn’t being entirely friendly. He made his _tone_ friendly, sure, but.

 _More like . . ._  A flash of intuition went through her.   _. . . he’s suspicious of me?_

“Having a personal driver when the rest of us walk, and then catching Neuilly-sama’s attention so quickly. You must have a very prestigious background.”

Eeesh, that look in his eyes. Kikuko wanted to sink into her desk.

Neuilly sat down, crossing one leg over the other and laughing loudly -- too loudly, such that Kikuko feared the whole classroom would turn to look at them.

“Sato Satoshi, do you know who you’re challenging? Listen, Kikuko comes from a family of hardened killers. Especially her father.”

Kikuko gasped a -- “Wait, what?” -- but Neuilly continued:

“So if you duel her, Sawada Kikuko will definitely waste you.” Neuilly stared expectantly at Kikuko with her large purple eyes. “Isn’t that right?”

“Wait -- wait a second! There seems to be some misunderstanding!” Kikuko waved her hands. “I don’t want to fight or anything!”

“For honor’s sake, I would never fight with a girl unless it was to protect someone. However -- “

That boy was staring beneath Kikuko’s desk at the box Bianchi had given her that morning.

“-- the one fit to be the bodyguard to Neuilly-sama is me. Sawada Kikuko, you can’t hide from me. I see what your assassination technique is. Poisoning. How disreputable.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea! It’s not poisoned! And . . . “

“Don’t play, Kikuko.” Neuilly sounded nonchalant. She winked. “The person who trained me taught me to have a keen nose for poisons. I would recognize that fruity smell anywhere.”

 _”It was for me!”_ Kikuko almost sobbed the words.

In a flurry of motion, she rose, slamming her hands down on the desk and staring defiantly at the boy who had so _rudely_ challenged her when, before, everything had been fine.

Other students were congregating around their desks, but Kikuko couldn’t be bothered to care just then.

“It was a gift for me. So…”

“Ah.” The boy pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “So, you have the ability to eat poison without dying. After school, I challenge you to a competition.”

“A competition for what?” She blinked in confusion.

“Eating,” Satoshi said, to which Kikuko felt herself making a face.  
  
“As the one in training to protect Neuilly-sama from harm,” he went on proudly, “I’ve developed the unique, one-of-a-kind ability to eat any food without succumbing to death!”

“It’s a pretty useless ability,” Neuilly said.

She leaned her cheek against her curled fist and scrunched her nose as she smiled.  
  
“Nevertheless, Kikuko, if you want to defend your pride as the heiress of your family, I could understand if you want to do battle with that person.”

“No, no,” Kikuko insisted, waving her hands more emphatically. “That’s troubling! I just . . . “

“I’ll see you after school, Sawada Kikuko,” Satoshi murmured.

Before Kikuko had a chance to protest, the boy turned and walked away.

***

Auntie’s cooking was poisoned. Did that mean, Kikuko wondered, that she was trying to kill her?

But more like, what was that about her dad and her family being -- being -- ?

Kikuko wanted to ask Neuilly what she had meant when she said such things, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud. She couldn’t even bring herself to think about them. Her head was spinning, and she looked around frantically as the lunch session ended and the other students began to disperse, returning to their desks as though nothing had happened.

Kikuko heaved a dejected sigh.

“Hey, Neuilly-chan,” she whispered, “What was with that guy? You tolerate him? Is he a friend?”

“Hm? Oh!” She laughed. “It would be more accurate to say… like a… life form, like an object you study. Or play with. Or reserve for use. Do you understand what I mean?”

“No, not at all!”

“It’s just that I have a hard time taking this world very seriously,” Neuilly went on, sounding more somber. She looked towards the door, where any moment, the teacher for the next class period would enter. “The things these humans in this class feel emotions about… feel just like shadows, to me…”

 _But,_ Kikuko thought, _though I wouldn’t put it like she does, sometimes I don’t understand why the people around me feel the way they do, either. And sometimes they also seem too serious, or not serious enough._  
  
“But a great event happened to me today, Kikuko.”

Neuilly looked up. Her eyes shone brightly with renewed hope, and she opened her hand, palm up, on her desk.

“I met you again. The Vongola Eleventh, who will understand my real goals.”

***

_That day, I learned there were many things my father never told me._

_Looking back, I ask how I couldn’t have realized when I heard the way everyone was talking._

_Looking back, I didn’t notice the way those other students were looking ominously at my friend._

_I was preoccupied with my classes, and wondering what clubs I would join, and what everyone was planning, and what would happen with that boy who gave me that crazy challenge._

_But looking at Neuilly, I thought, she seemed apart from people our age._

_A lonely girl, just like me._

_Like in a dream, I knew we’d talked somewhere, a long time ago._

_And then when the English teacher came into the room, I realized I had seen him before, too._

_When he walked in and the sunlight made a halo around him, I thought he looked just like an angel from a story._

_White hair, and I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of wings, but only for a second. And my head was spinning, because I knew … I just knew…_

***

He introduced himself as Byakuran-sensei, who was born in Italy and had studied in America during his college years.

“I’m actually a long-term substitute,” he explained. “You see, the usual English teacher had this tragic accident, and well . . . “

Kikuko could have sworn he glanced in her and Neuilly’s direction at that moment.

“I have great abilities with students like yourselves.”

Kikuko fiddled with her thumbs uncertainly.

“My, my.” Their teacher, dressed not in a conventional suit, but in an all-white and lavender uniform, brought out several sheafs of paper. “Let’s have a new roll call, shall we? I’m looking forward to making one another’s acquaintances.”

Sato Satoshi, present.

Ajibana Mariko, present.

“How interesting. And… this one… “ Byakuran-sensei’s eyes narrowed. “Rokudodokuro Neuilly?”

Neuilly raised her hand. “Please, sensei. Don’t use that silly name. Rokudo or Dokuro will be fine, but not both. That’s just too much.”

“Rokudo it is, then. Neuilly-chan, you look awfully familiar. And -- you.” Staring obviously at Kikuko, Sensei’s expression changed to an exaggerated grin. “Sawada Kikuko, I take it?"

“Present,” Kikuko mumbled, raising her hand shyly.

“You don’t have to look uncomfortable like that, Kikuko-chan.” He lifted a pencil off the desk and twirled it absently before thumb and forefinger at eye level. “After all, it’s not as though I’m a dictator or anything.”

Kikuko wanted to sink into her desk. Instead, she nodded tensely.

“My apologies, honored sensei.”

“That was a unique way to express that idea,” Neuilly whispered towards her. “I’m intrigued.”

 _I’m glad you’re enjoying this,_ Kikuko wanted to say -- sarcastically, of course.

And then she would bury her head under a mountain of pillows.

“I hope it won’t trouble you all if I decorate my desk with flowers, or if I bring chocolate from time to time… or other confections, for that matter.”

The students were silent.

“Just as I hope it won’t bother you if I decide to arbitrarily assign your essays whatever grade I want.”

A collective tugging of collars and intake of breath could be hard from the classroom at that.

Sensei slapped the desk and laughed, adding, “I’m just kidding, of course!”

And Kikuko barely restrained herself from shouting: _Is this person even qualified to teach?_

“This is exciting!” Neuilly exclaimed. “We finally get an interesting teacher!”

“Please, Neuilly-chan. People are going to accuse you of standing out too much if you keep that up.” He closed one eye, as though he were winking in her direction. “You should at least let other students speak.”

Again, his gaze drifted slowly towards Kikuko.

“Well, then, shall we begin the lesson for today?”

***

_You recognize me, don’t you, Kikuko-chan?_

And something inside of her mind flashed. Like a pulse of light. Only it came from within, not from the outside world.

Grey walls and curtains. Across the room there was a bed, and there stood Kikuko’s mother. She was injured. Bandaged.

Almost like an out-of-body experience, Kikuko had the feeling of her own form being impossibly smaller, difficult-to-move, and when she tried to speak, she couldn’t.

“Thank you,” Kyoko was saying, tiredly, “for all that you’ve done.”

And a woman’s voice answered: “For Sawada Tsunayoshi, you, and the baby… anything. Anything we can do to help.”

That bed. Small, plain.

A hospital bed!

_Wait. This is._

“When you go to Tsuna, please tell him that I’ll negotiate with the clans. I’ve done this before. I’m not afraid.”

_This is a dream._

_No, more like, a memory?_

A woman was leaning over her -- dressed in black and white, wearing a hat like a swollen egg, and she had the brightest eyes Kikuko had ever seen.

_Who . . ._

“And thank you, Byakuran,” the woman said, “for healing her.”

And that voice -- lilting, laughing, playful. Sensei’s voice?

“Don’t be silly. Don’t you know me after all this time, Uni? When have I ever turned down a request from you? But, if you think about it -- “

Above Kikuko’s field of vision: immense light, and the spreading of shimmering wings.

A single figure bathed the room in a pale glow.

“Doesn’t this make me something like Kikuko-chan’s godparent?”

***

Finally, her mother’s voice:

 _Tsu-kun is meeting with them_ , she said. _I’ll have to go now._

 

_***_

_***_

_***_

 

If I died then, I would have most regretted not finding out the real story.

That instant, with all my will, I determined to ask my father and Reborn the truth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kikuko begins gathering her Guardians. Kind of. Sort of. A bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend Kiwi gave me ART of two of my OCs! /o/ So I had to add it at the beginning. (actually, she drew a couple of pieces, but I'm starting with this one, haha.)

(Neuilly; left, and Kikuko, right)

[part 2]

The estate belonging to the _famiglia_ Giglio Nero was beginning to show signs of decay. Across the ornately papered walls, the occasional crack could be discerned, as well as the thin layer of dust along more than one of the curtains.

Shaded windows overlooked the gardens in which white roses bloomed.

“Thank you, Uncle, for coming here today,” Uni said.

She had never looked uneasy occupying seats that were far too large for someone of her stature. Even in her youngest days, she would grip the armrests with purpose. 

Having attained Luce’s height and build, Uni looked all the more like the queen of a final, lingering monarchy -- sitting with regal poise in a foreign exile, self-imposed.

“This is _her_ first day of middle school, isn’t it?” She smiled gently. “I’m so happy for Tsuna.”

Uni was like that, of course. The bright smile of the Sky Arcobaleno, as she had once been. You could hear the world weariness, sometimes, if you listened closely enough -- the faded scars of being thrust into a complicated role from birth, of immediate and lasting personal losses, but still, she kept that tone of optimism.

“Yesterday, I was also summoned to a meeting by a certain man.”

Reborn reached into his pocket and removed the ring, unceremoniously laying it on the coffee table before Uni.

Her bright eyes drifted closed, making her smile look wan.

“I thought so,” Uni said quietly. 

“You’ve seen something, haven’t you, Uni?”

As with many of their conversations, the questions weren’t really questions. Reborn knew Uni like he knew Leon or Tsuna -- you could tell by their body language what they were thinking; there was plenty of transparency, but a question here was a sort of kindness: prompting, leading, easing the way for revelations.

Slowly, she nodded, leaning forward heavily. 

“A week ago, in a dream, I saw Checkerface-sama standing in the lilies. I knew it was one of those, again… a premonition…”

Slowly, she arose.

Reborn was careful, as always, to keep his tone measured:

“Is that so? I take it that what you saw was symbolic.”

“Byakuran always understood the meaning of flowers better than I do.” Uni turned, looking through the tall windows at the estates’ gardens. “We talked, Uncle… and I think… Checkerface-sama has gone to be with our ancestors.”

Reborn averted his gaze, turning again to look at the ring.

“I see.”

So, alone with no daughter as of now, Uni would truly be the last of the dying race.

“We’ve been coming to this for a long time,” she continued. “It was something like fate, I think. When I felt my mother’s and grandmother’s will… it seemed like we were making the way for the people who come next.”

Uni turned to Reborn, clasping the folds of her long white robe. Her smile was knowing, like her grandmother’s before her: _making way for the people who come next._ Wasn’t that something they both understood? Wasn’t that something every Arcobaleno had learned to make peace with?

“Tsuna brought us peace,” she said.

“I’m not in the habit of praising him, but Tsuna created a revolution, you might say,” Reborn agreed.

“Yes, but…”

“But revolutions don’t just destroy an old order.” He reached for the ring. “Eventually, what passes may come again.”

“Yes. That’s the other definition.”

Ten generations had come and gone in Talbot’s long lifetime. How many more revolutions had that man who had come before the humans seen? 

He had been their tormenter -- that nameless person -- the cause of their suffering, with the original sin of the Tri-ni-sette which had cut Luce’s and Aria’s lifetimes short. Yet, here they were, defiantly living on. 

And all thanks to Tsuna -- thanks to Reborn’s own student. Former student.

In the end, Reborn wasn’t even surprised by this news. If anything, it was fitting. Ends and beginnings. The Ninth was gone. Kikuko was here.

“I had a second vision,” Uni continued, hesitant now. “This one was dimmer. As though I was looking through a fog.”

Reborn tipped his head such that the brim of his hat shadowed his eyes.

“Uncle Reborn, I think…”

***

Many forms they had inhabited, those objects of the 7^3, and perhaps many more would they come to be.

Sometimes it felt as though the world consisted of nothing but cycles. Births, deaths, seasons. Giotto to his natural successor, Sawada Tsunayoshi, through the price of ten generations. Luce, Aria, Uni. 

Uni, walking about the old mansion, heiress to the accident of her birth and her ancestral ties to the dark fortunes of Giglio Nero. Not so unlike Tsuna in that respect. Caught up in webs that exceeded their dreams and aspirations. Yet Uni had accepted her position with a martyr’s complacency.

Tsuna’s peace was Uni’s peace, for she had negotiated it as well.

After Gamma was killed, that vague grief had never left her defining smile.

 _I think the Tri-ni-sette is in danger, Uncle,_ Uni had said.

_In my vision, the Mare Rings faded. I could no longer feel them… and the Pacifiers… they…_

_And we have another set of Vongola Rings,_ Reborn reminded her. _Even I was confused about that. Talbot talked as though he was compelled to forge them._

And what, if anything, did that mean for the former rings, reforged into the VG?

_I haven’t talked to Tsuna yet, but I will. Iemitsu and Basil, too._

Uni had nodded, but they were both thinking the same thing: each part of the 7^3 was a source of potential conflict. If Tsuna himself could have once been compelled to destroy the rings due to the battles provoked in their name, what would it mean to have a revived set?

Uni closed her eyes, as though in pain.

“Poor Kikuko.” She shook her head. “Tsuna always hoped she would live without any cares. A life like a sky with endless sunshine.”

Her face held all the empathy in the world.

***

_The sky was on fire._

_The sky was on fire. Red and yellow and blue and orange lights, and a sound like thunder._

_Arms squeezing the giant stuffed penguin tightly, Kikuko peered through the crack of the open door. Down the hallway, out of sight, her father was speaking to someone with words she half-heard and did not understand._

_In there. In his study. With people. Were they strangers?_

_She pushed the door open and reached out -- slowly, slowly, as though expecting to encounter a wall, as though blind and feeling her way along, creeping tiptoe --_

_“Kikuko.”_

_She looked up. Way up. Way up, at the man with the hat, who looked down, down at her._

_“They’re coming,” that man said. “You should wait here.”_

_And then there was a banging, banging, banging on the front door. When the sky was on fire and sounded like thunder, someone was banging, banging, banging on the door._

_“No, no. Make it stop!” Kikuko hugged her toy and crouched down, crying the words plaintively._

_The noise shook her almost to tears -- and she would have gone further, crying and screaming, but then -- then she felt a hand on her shoulder. A calming hand._

_That man._

_Downstairs, Kikuko could hear her mother and Auntie Haru -- they were speaking excitedly, but in a tone of agitation, not joy._

_Shuffling noises, and then her mother was rushing towards the front door._

_“Kikuko, your friend is here,” Reborn said._

_Movements -- her father in the hall, looking bright -- and then, a flash of recognition at her presence._

_“Kikuko? You’re awake? You should be in -- “_

_There was so much motion that night, but Kikuko held still._

_She held still when her mother climbed the stairs and presented her with another young girl._

_Blue hair and ribbons, and black stockings, and tiny white shoes._

_“She’s going to be staying with us for a while,” Kyoko said -- and though she smiled… though she smiled, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of that unresponsive child. “It’s just…”_

_The girl did not move. Looking at Kikuko, she shrugged._

_“Did you see the lights over the moon?” She waved her fingers. “They went boom!”_

***

“Kikuko?”

No, she thought. 

“Ngh,” she muttered. “It’s … so early.”

The other person laughed softly. Shly. _Familiar._

“Now, Kikuko, it’s actually almost time for you to be going home.”

“Wha-- it... “

Kikuko opened her eyes to see that she was inside of a small, dimly lit room. She glanced around, observing cabinets, small articles of medical clothing, a little table, and a couple of other beds covered by white sheets.

Posters and papers decorated the walls and door. Blearily, Kikuko could discern that the pictures involved body parts, and the text appeared to be general health information.

“A hospital…? No, more like -- “

“The nurse’s office, Kikuko!”

A woman stepped into her field of vision. Smiling cheerily and waving, she wore her hair in a very familiar style: two long, looped braids.

“I-Pin-nee!” Kikuko exclaimed, simultaneously shocked and tentatively pleased by this turn of events. “But -- what are you doing at my school of all places?”

“A certain man told me I should make sure you’re all right. And I have a special pass.”

I-Pin pulled the blue lanyard around her neck, indicating the laminated ID card at her chest.

“A certain man…” KIkuko murmured. “That must be… but wait. More like, why am I here? How did I end up in this room?”

“Well…” I-Pin tilted her head. A hint of redness dusted her cheeks, and she raised a hand to cup the side of her face. “You passed out in class, actually. Have you been feeling okay?”

“Passed out… “ Kikuko clutched her head. “But… now that you mention it… I have had this cold, and my head’s been stuffy. But I shouldn’t pass out from _that_ , should I?”

I-Pin’s expression became serious. Just above a whisper, almost conspiratorially, she added, “Has there been anything else, Kikuko?”

_Maybe she knows._

“It may sound a little crazy, but I’ve been having these dreams, but really… I think they could be memories… I mean, when they happen, I feel like they’re memories, but not memories of anything I’d remembered before, but more like something that’s coming back to me.”

Kikuko paused, turning aside and dangling her legs from the small bed.

“But come to think of it, I was sitting in class, and it was like I -- like I fell into a dream suddenly. And then I woke up here. And that’s the last thing I remember!”

“I see…” I-Pin pulled up a clipboard and looked intently at it. Not for the first time, Kikuko had a feeling that there was something the other woman was hesitant to say. 

“I see,” she repeated. “It must be… so that’s why he asked me to come…”

“I-Pin-nee, please! Don’t just leave it at that!” 

With renewed energy, Kikuko jolted off the bed, hitting the ground as though she would sprint forward.

“Last night -- “ She raised her arms. “-- this man, Reborn, came to me, and he was asking me all these things I didn’t understand! Like a test or something! And he had this... “ 

Kikuko pointed her index finger and curled the others, making the shape of a gun.

“A gun that he pointed at me. But I thought maybe that was a dream, too. I tried not to think about it, but today… this girl said that my dad killed people and… “ 

She stared down at her feet. 

“And I… I thought about it, I-Pin-nee, and I realized that most of my family is a little bit scary. Reborn, Auntie Bianchi, giving me poisoned food, Uncle Gokudera being so intense, and even you! I’ve seen you attack people, and -- “

“Oh, Kikuko! Please don’t bring that up about me! It was an accident!” 

I-Pin was blushing much more heavily now.

“We really try not to be scary to you, Kikuko,” she was stammering. “You don’t understand… Gokudera really wants to impress you and Bianchi always thinks love will neutralize her poison cooking… but it’s just that we all have instincts from our pasts, and sometimes they come out, even when we don’t want you to see us that way.”

I-Pin looked so embarrassed and penitent that Kikuko felt a sudden burst of shame for being upset to begin with. She glanced towards the wall -- her family: why were they so good at guilt-tripping her?

“Maybe,” Kikuko said, quietly. “But the thing I realized…” Softly, tentatively. “... is that I don’t know your pasts. Or my dad’s. Or what he does now. Maybe there was always this dangerous aura, and I just … I didn’t want to see it. But now I can’t help it.”

“Kikuko, listen.” I-Pin sighed. Her expression turned sad. “I think your Vongola blood is awakening. That’s why you’re suddenly becoming more aware, and why you’re feeling strange, and having these dreams. And it must be why Reborn has come to you.”

“Vongola blood?” Kikuko’s nose scrunched. “What kind of diagnosis is that?”

“I-it’s not one!” I-Pin clapped her hands together in front of her face. “Oh, I shouldn’t have told you! Tsuna wanted to tell you himself someday… or Reborn…”

“Vongola.” Kikuko flexed her fingers, looking down at her hand as if expecting to see or feel something different. “Dad’s company. Weird.”

She shook her head.

“But, never mind right now. I’ll ask Reborn. I already decided I would.” And Kikuko hadn’t forgotten her resolve to do so. “More importantly, is it true, I-Pin-nee? Is it true about my dad? Please tell me! I have to know! Is he… is he like a yakuza or something?”

“Oh, no. No, Kikuko, listen!” 

I-Pin leaned forward, gently taking hold of Kikuko by the shoulders and looking at her imploringly at eye level. 

“You were right before when you said a lot of us have had scary auras. What you must understand about your father is that many of the people you now call family, including me, came to him with bad intentions… but he forgave us.”

 _Bad intentions?_ Kikuko felt her mind drift backwards. _That’s right! Auntie Bianchi said she tried to kill him! But that he changed Uncle Gokudera’s life? But --_

“Your father is no bad or violent person. The opposite! But sometimes people may hear rumours about him that aren’t true, because of the position he’s placed in. That girl -- who told her your dad killed people?”

Neuilly.

Kikuko’s eyes widened.

That dream. Or was it indeed a memory?

_Who is she…_

With a soft smile, Kikuko leaned forward and placed her arms around I-Pin’s neck.

“I-Pin-nee,” she whispered against her. “Thank you. I really appreciate what you told me. I need to go back to class now, though.”

Grinning that sweet, bashful grin, I-Pin returned the warm embrace.

Tension ebbed away, melting into calm, into quiet.

***

_Can it be time to go home already?_

“Jeez, what a waste of a day,” Kikuko murmured, scratching the back of her head and watching the other students file out through the hallways. “But I guess it wasn’t so bad, since Reborn left me alone after all.”

“Hey, you there.”

The voice was feminine, and not one Kikuko could remember hearing before. She turned.

There, in the middle of the hallway, stood a girl and a boy who she had the vague sense of having seen within her earlier classes. 

The girl had short red-orange hair, long bangs pulled to the sides and tucked behind her ears, and bright eyes of some intermediate shade between green and blue. Strikingly pretty eyes, Kikuko thought. And she was thin and relatively tall, with an athletic sort of appearance. The boy, meanwhile, was a little on the shorter side, for a boy, and had a head covered by dark brown curls, as well as very dark green eyes.

The girl who had called for Kikuko’s attention seemed to realize how forward she’d been.

“Hello,” she said, shifting her feet. “I’m Ajibana Mariko. This is my friend.”

Mariko looked aside to said friend. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

He appeared to hesitate for a moment, then said, slowly, “Nishimura Kiyoshi.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Kikuko answered. “I’m Sawada Kikuko.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kikuko-chan, but we didn’t just come here to say hello,” Mariko went on, with a speed as if she had already planned every word. “We came because we wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me?” 

Kikuko blinked.

“Do you want to tell her, Kiyoshi?” 

Mariko turned, but the boy shook his head. With a sigh, Mariko pressed one hand to her hip and the other to her forehead. 

_She has a strong presence,_ Kikuko thought, somewhat enraptured. Like the kind of person whose presence would really make a mark. _Is she in one of the clubs?_

“Listen, Kikuko-chan, it’s about that girl you were talking to in class today. Do you know her?”

“Uh, well…” Kikuko laughed and nervously scratched at her cheek. Wow, did her classmates notice everything, or what? “I’m not really sure. I mean, I think we did meet before. Maybe. But we’re just getting to know each other, because even if we did meet, I think it was a really long time ago.”

Kikuko was vaguely aware that she might be babbling. 

“Forget that!” Mariko pointed. “Kikuko-chan, you should know who that girl Neuilly really is. The truth is that not one of us will go near her. Kiyoshi, isn’t what I’m saying true?”

“It’s a long story, but yes, she’s telling you the truth there.”

“Oh... “ Kikuko began to fret. “It did seem like you guys were looking at her in a not very nice way…”

“You must not really know her reputation, then. Kikuko-chan, you look like you’re a nice person, right?” Mariko waved her hands. “If you are, I’d stay far away from that girl.”

“But -- but what happened? What has she done?”

Mariko looked at Kiyoshi once more. He made a soft sound under his breath. Again, Kikuko detected that same sense of reluctance, as though he didn’t really want to be a party to this conversation, but was motivated by -- by what? Obligation? What was this?

“It’s been about four years ago now,” Kiyoshi said, looking down at his feet. “But when we were all in primary school, there was this boy… long story short, he didn’t wake up for three months when he crossed Neuilly. And even after he did wake up, he’s never been the same person.”

“Didn’t… wake up…” Kikuko mouthed the words. “What… I don’t…”

“She put our friend in a coma, Kikuko-chan! Three months of nightmares! And she did it without lifting a hand. Isn’t that a terrifying ability?”

“I -- I don’t understand. How -- without lifting a hand --“ Kikuko felt a shiver. “And why? Why would Neuilly-chan do that?”

Kiyoshi rolled a delicate shoulder and exhaled in a loud huff through clenched teeth.

“She can alter the reality that people experience and enter their minds. It sounds crazy, but Mariko isn’t lying. You don’t want to be on the other side of that skill. No one will speak to Neuilly or cross her path.”

_”Neuilly-chan is that scary?”_

“The strongest fighters in our school give her a wide breadth,” Kiyoshi answered. “They call her a ghost girl, or maybe a monster.”

“But I still don’t understand…” Kikuko looked closely at the other students’ faces. “... why did Neuilly-chan hurt someone? Why? Why would she?”

Mariko and Kiyoshi exchanged tense glances. Watching them, Kikuko had that feeling again: that certainty that something wasn’t being disclosed. It was just like before, when she hadn’t been afraid of Reborn or when she’d felt those dreams wash over her consciousness. That same sense of absolute assurance.

A contemplative moment passed. 

Kiyoshi let his posture slump. Mariko opened her mouth as though she was beginning to speak.

Then, her expression turned stricken.

What’s this feeling.

As if time began to slow. As if bodies moved underwater. There were students walking through the halls, and all at once, they became shadows. Passing shadows on the walls. 

And like a candle flame in a gust of wind, the lights flickered perilously overhead. The hallway drifted into gutter darkness, broken only by a deep purple glow.

“I heard two snakes hissing in this hallway.”

Kikuko jerked around. What she saw and felt made all her muscles and nerves turn to liquid.

Neuilly stood on the stairs, arms swaying lightly by her sides as she walked down. 

It was the rigidity of her posture that struck Kikuko. Free of the sort of twitches and jerks and ambling motions that a normal body would have -- rather, she was so straight, so severe, as if every muscle were poised for a lunge forward, a sudden dash, or a powerful blow.

But what really made Kikuko nervous was that look on Neuilly’s face. 

She stared across the hall with a cold, impassive glare, and her face was as smooth and white as though it were made of wax, twisted only minutely by the smallest hint of a smirk.

“You two.” Neuilly reached up, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. “It figures. I ought to step on your heads.”

Mariko raised a clenched fist. “You think you can just do whatever you want? You were always like that, Neuilly! But we’ll show you… soon…”

 _Eeeeeeee!_ Kikuko looked frantically back and forth. No, no, no! Why her?

“Neuilly-chan,” she said softly.

For the first time, Neuilly turned to acknowledge her. Her expression was placid.

“Don’t worry, Kikuko. These two humans aren’t worth the trouble I would get in.” She returned her gaze to the other two, raising her arm before her face and pointing at Mariko, who had stepped forward. “They have their version of that reality. But that’s fine. I won’t dispute it.”

She faced Kikuko again. Expression somber, almost apologetic.

“If you don’t want to visit with me anymore, I can understand, Kikuko.” She shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first. But I thought because of your family…”

_What will you do, Sawada Kikuko?_

What will you do. The voice in her head: her voice, Neuilly’s voice, Reborn’s voice.

Who or what do you believe?

 _This girl was giving a very wrong impression of my Dad,_ Kikuko thought, clasping her hands together at her waist as though in premature supplication. _And maybe she has a wrong impression of me, too. But…_

Looking from one upset face to another.

_What caused them to fight? Still, I need to know._

“Neuilly-chan,” Kikuko stammered. “Aren’t you a kid like me? You shouldn’t be scary. Bring back the lights, Neuilly-chan, please.”

_What will you do, Sawada Kikuko?_

In the violet light, Neuilly smiled at Kikuko and tilted her head.

“Don’t be a naive person, Kikuko,” she said quietly.

The lights flickered and returned.

“Neuilly-chan . . . what happened . . . why did you . . . “

Looking directly at the other two, Neuilly placed her own hand on her hip. 

“It’s only because I don’t want to go to the cold and dark place,” she said quietly, casting a quick glance at Kikuko. “If I did, I would never be forgiven. Otherwise . . . I’d be rid of Mariko and Kiyoshi forever. But -- “ 

A little more loudly: “Kikuko, are you going home now? I’m sorry you’ve been kept waiting like this.”

_It would seem that there’s a history here, wouldn’t it, Kikuko?_

“Reborn?” 

Kikuko clutched her head, vaguely aware that the other three were giving her strange looks and that the tension among the participants in this conversation had not yet fully dissipated.

“I see,” she heard Kiyoshi mutter, sounding strangely matter-of-fact. “Mariko, let’s go. It’s none of our concern about other people’s relationships.”

Mariko _humph_ ed. “Just remember, Kikuko-chan, that no good deed goes unpunished!”

She grabbed Kiyoshi’s sleeve and turned, running off. With a final, lingering look, he turned and followed behind his friend at a more languid, unhurried pace.

“Oh?” Neuilly turned to Kikuko imploringly, blinking excitedly. “Oh, oh. How dramatic! You don’t really believe they’re afraid of me, do you, Kikuko? If so, why pull such a stunt?”

She winked.

“I hope they really do try whatever they’re planning. It’s been a long time since I had any fun at school.”

“Neuilly-chan,” Kikuko reached down, rubbing her arm. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but --”

 _But I don’t want any part of all this,_ she intended to say.

Privately, she was beginning to feel she had perhaps miscalculated this friendship.

 _I had thought she was a pretty and popular person, but does someone like me really need more frightening people in her life?_ A guilty thought, perhaps, because the other girl seemed eager for them to know one another… _But at this rate, she’ll scare off others in our class! And what was that magic a moment ago?_

“Don’t worry. I really was telling the truth when I told you I have no interest in those people,” Neuilly said. “I have my own plans. You know all about that, don’t you? After all.”

Her eyes narrowed and she reached up, touching her chin.

“I heard you call the name of that Arcobaleno, Reborn. Where is he, hm?”

“ _What?_ ” Kikuko stammered. “You -- you heard that? That is, you know about Reborn?”

“Of course. I’ve been briefed on your family.”

“But I think you have the wrong idea about some things!”

“Is that so?”

“She’s right about that, Neuilly. Though when your source isn’t exactly known for its honesty, that’s to be expected.”

Kikuko jolted.

Before she could scream, she heard the almost-deafening sound of the gun and felt the rush of air from the bullet.

 _Eeeeeeeee! I’m dead!_ Kikuko dropped to her knees. _I’m dead, and it doesn’t even hurt… I must be bleeding out too quickly..._

Wincing, she ran her hands up and down her body, but when she tentatively opened her eyes, there was no warm red substance coating her palms. 

“Well, well.” 

Kikuko heard something strike the ground. When she averted her gaze from her hands and returned it to her classmate, she saw the bullet at Neuilly’s feet.

Beside it, Neuilly had planted the end of a staff.

“What a dirty trick.” She placed her foot on the bullet. “Making me reveal _that._ ”

“Neuilly-chan!” Kikuko screamed. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, of course.” She giggled. “That man is just teasing.”

Kikuko turned. There stood Reborn, visible now, holding a still-smoking gun.

“I knew if I fired a test shot at you, you would use your weapon to deflect,” Reborn said, reaching up to tip his hat. “And, as I thought, it’s a three-pointed trident. Ciao, Neuilly -- or should I say, daughter of Tsuna’s Mist Guardians.”

“I don’t like that term, but two people with those identities did create me.” She quickly knelt down and scooped the bullet into her palm. “What is this, a toy? It’s not the real thing.”

“I had been planning to shoot Kikuko with the Dying Will Bullet today, but unless she finds her resolve, it would just kill her in her current pathetic state.”

 _”Reborn!”_ Kikuko rolled over on the ground and buried her face, flailing. “More like, where is everyone at? You’re both going to get into lots of trouble, bringing weapons to the school!”

“Kikuko will need a Mist Guardian,” Reborn continued, ignoring the person of whom he spoke. “Are you looking to be part of the Family, Neuilly? Would Mukuro object to that?”

“That would be a great incentive all by itself, wouldn’t it?” Neuilly flicked the bullet at Reborn’s feet. “But, really, I want to see what Sawada Kikuko is capable of. When you shoot her with the Dying Bullet, will she tear her clothes off and terrorize her enemies?”

_”What’s this about tearing clothes off?”_

“If she proves to be really interesting -- better yet, if she trains, and she shows she can defeat me… “ Neuilly again struck the ground with the bottom of the trident. It vanished in a burst of indigo haze. “Well… I could promise, but what would the promise of a person like me be worth?”

“I wonder about that.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not that interested in fighting for its own sake like the last Cloud Guardian. But skills and talent are important to me. I have my goals, you see.”

“So you’ve said.” Reborn turned to Kikuko. “Shouldn’t you be getting up, Kikuko? Gokudera is outside waiting to take you home. We can continue this talk at a later date.”

Oh, that’s right. _Now that you mention it, I never did get a chance to give Reborn a piece of my mind!_

Kikuko jumped up and brushed the dust from her knees.

 _I don’t know whether to be angry at Reborn for dragging Neuilly-chan into things with us, or whether to be angry at Neuilly-chan for dragging me into things with her …_ she realized.

“I had thought you were going to have a competition after school today, Kikuko,” Reborn said, again with that exasperating, nonchalant way of saying so. “But I guess that boy doesn’t have much follow through.”

“Maybe some other time, knowing him,” Neuilly said. She looked quite happy. “I have to be going, also. This irritating little girl is waiting for me to walk home with her.”

“You have a very convoluted way of talking about your sister and your parents,” Reborn said dryly.

“My offer to you to visit my place is still on the table, Kikuko. It doesn’t have to be today, you know.” 

Neuilly waved and turned, crossing the hall in a series of huge leaps and bounds, landing lightly each time her feet touched the ground. 

“She’s a lot weirder than I thought.” Kikuko exhaled. “But… that was kind of cool…”

She shook her head. “More like, if she’s as scary as she seemed earlier, there’s no way I can agree to any of this.”

“You don’t seem to be very scared, though, for all your whining and complaining,” Reborn noted.

“Well, about that… I never did get her side of that story or confirm it… and I guess when I think about it, she was saying…. But, wait! Reborn! Don’t change the subject!”

Kikuko stood firm, scowling at him.

“Change the subject?” Reborn tilted his head. “Are you that eager to talk about becoming a mafia boss?”

So there we have it. Finally.

“Is that what he is? My father?” 

Her hands instinctively curled into fists by her side.

“There you go, Kikuko. Is this your Dying Will?”

“You _tell me_ the truth.” 

She stood poised, as though ready to jump towards him and strike.

 _Wait,_ Kikuko thought dimly. _What am I doing? I just saw that guy shoot his gun at a girl my age, and here I am talking like this. I must be nuts…_

“I mean… uh…” She lowered her head. “Please.”

“Tsk, stupid Kikuko.” Somehow, even with his cold, blank expression, Reborn managed to look disappointed. “You have a long way to go.”

He returned his gun to its holster.

“Tonight, I’ll tell you everything. For now, your family is waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearly 4 months with no update? terrrrrrrible, I know. actually, I had most of this chapter done by October. but I was pulling my hair out because it just. wouldn't. cooperate. actually, it's still not cooperating, but whatever, I have to move on or the story will stall. :B confused characters are hard to write, plus I'm normally a very descriptive, flowery-type writer -- the minimalist prose style I've been using in this story is because it'd be UNBEARABLY long (as if it's not already!) with more dense prose. O_O but FEELS WEIRD, MAN. :B
> 
> CHEERS!


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